


I Love(d) You (Once)

by Cleury



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, HP: EWE, Romantic Comedy, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 19:38:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3949150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cleury/pseuds/Cleury
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A deal goes awry and with her job on the line, Hermione drags Draco off to do something incredibly stupid. DMHG. EWE.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Five Years Ago

**Author's Note:**

> First, a disclaimer. JKR owns HP, not me. Second, a huge thank you to my alpha-reader, hiddenhibernian; and my beta-reader for this story, MysticDew.

 They hated him for his vanity-

But when he chose not to be,

They loved that he died.

—Eulogy for Lucius Malfoy in The Daily Prophet, 1998.

* * *

 Case 87 Year 1998 10 August

 Narcissa Malfoy is hereby declared guilty and convicted under the offence s 12A of Prohibition of Unforgivable Curses Act 1867. The jury under unanimous decision have been convinced beyond reasonable doubt that Narcissa Malfoy had not been under duress when she casted the Imperius curse on her son, Draco Malfoy. She had done this on fourteen separate occasions; each time to manipulate her son to undertake his Death Eater activities.

With Capital Punishment Act 1473 repealed, she has been sentenced to life imprisonment in Nurmengard with a minimum of thirteen years.

* * *

 

**(12 June 1999; The shittiest birthday)**

Today was Draco Malfoy's birthday. And true to tradition as it had been for the last eighteen years, the day was all about him.

Only this year it was for quite a different reason.

Instead of people coming together to celebrate his existence, an amphitheatre of purple-robed judges were deciding his fate. The head judge held up his parchment and began reading…

"Next case, Case 104 Year 1999 12 June."

There was still an angry murmur of discontent within the public. Maurice Pucey tapped Draco on the shoulder and nodded at him. He took a shaky breath and refused to look at his mother as she brushed past him, escorted by two Aurors.

The door slammed behind him and everything was silent aside from his tight leather loafers squeaking against the cold marble floor.

"The Crown has laid three counts against Draco Malfoy," read the Judge. "As established in the last hearing, he is accused of being a Death Eater, casting Unforgivables and the attempted assassination on Albus Dumbledore…"

Draco lowered his head and gritted his teeth; his heart pounded in his chest.  _I'll be fine,_ he thought.  _Remember what Maurice Pucey's lawyers said to you._

"All which have been proven to be under the influence of the Imperius curse—"

Blood roared into Draco's ears and he shut his eyes.

"The jury has decided a substantial proportion of the Crown's charges have failed under the confirmed facts in Case 87 Year 1998 10 August, and has allowed a successful defence of sane automatism. Medical experts have found the defendant had indeed been under the influence of the Imperius curse and his memories have been subsequently tampered with. The Crown has been unable to raise a satisfactory argument to prove their case beyond all reasonable doubt…" said the judge, and he cleared his throat.

Draco felt as though he was about to die.

"There has been a long standing rule a person cannot be criminally made responsible for their actions if the vital link between his mind and body has been severed. An act cannot become an offence on the defendant's part if there is an intervening cause beyond his influence and control. It seems a proper case to grant the defendant full acquittal.

"Draco Malfoy is hereby declared innocent and cleared of all charges."

"Yes!" Maurice did not hide his joy and punched his fist into the air. His lawyers cheered with fervour though they seemed to be part of the small proportion that was happy with this outcome.

"…Something is fishy…"

"…Definitely lying…"

Draco walked back to them with wobbly legs, completely drained by the ordeal.

Since the start of the Death Eater Trials last year, the Ministry placed him under house arrest and everyone treated him as the scum of the earth. Even after moving to three separate locations, death threats kept coming in.

The Warding community was not ready to accept Draco Malfoy as the victim of the Death Eater crimes. They cried for his blood and for a moment he thought he'd have to spend the next twenty years in prison.

Until he found out how his mother betrayed him.

"Well done, son. You did well." Maurice patted him on the back and began to lead him out of the court room.

"Next case!" the clerk yelled and another person stepped to have justice dealt to him in full.

Draco nodded and continued walking with Maurice clearing the path in front for him.

"What are your plans after denouncing the Malfoy name?" A horde of reporters flew into his face and asked.

"Would you still be able to claim your trust fund?" another one asked.

And then everything was all too much for Draco; he stopped in his tracks, looked up to the sky and burst into tears. He had held it in for the whole year—he hadn't cried once since the trials started. His parents had told him never to let his feelings show… but in the end, when did they ever teach him to do what was right? Cameras flashed around him and he didn't bother to hide his crying face.

He had enough of Britain.

* * *

 Herald, J. (1999, July). This Reeks of Bullshit. In  _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Student Magazine (Swish!)_.

 The world is filled with surprises and the majority of them are bad. They range from misconstrued intentions to full-blown lies. The whole Malfoy case manages to cover BOTH ends of the continuum. Their story is utter bullshit.

Has nobody noticed Narcissa Malfoy pulled the oldest trick in the book? "My son was under the Imperius curse", blah blahblahblah! That's exactly how Lucius Malfoy got away with prison the first time. And how can Draco not remember having the Imperius cast on him? A memory charm's eaten most his memories from the last two years away? What an ultimate cop-out!

And I save the biggest hoo-ha for the last: at the scene of Lucius' "suicide", Narcissa and Draco Malfoy were with him alone. Fucking guard, how could you leave a family of deranged shits in the same room!

Do we believe the self-preserving git would kill himself?

We think not.

Who hates his daddy so much, he's won the honour of being the first pureblood to blast himself off his own family tree?

Draco Malfoy, the Karma Houdini of Our Generation.

* * *

  **(15 January 2000; Departure)**

A couple stood beside a row of plastic chairs one floor above the check-in area at the International Terminal, locked in a tight hug more in familiarity than affection, ignoring the steady stream of people through the departure gates. One was a woman with an immaculate chocolate-brown bob, donned in a knee-length dress. She was Pansy Parkinson. She wore the colour of mourning because today was a farewell. She leaned forward and moulded herself into a man's fierce embrace. He was Draco Malfoy. He wore a crisp black suit for this special day. At this precise moment, Pansy was drowning him.

There were a few things Draco hated but tolerated for Pansy: an unmade bed, masquerade balls and sloppy kisses; such as the one they shared now. He had loved Pansy, but not enough to sacrifice his life. Her lips slid against his and he moved almost lazily, responding only when she urged him with persistent cues.

"Pansy—" he said as they broke apart for a moment to take a breath. Her only response was to pull him closer. "Pansy!" he said again, this time pulling his head back.

She looked up at him with her brown eyes and scowled. "What?"

"Drool."

Wordlessly—because this had happened  _so_  many times before—she pulled out a pack of tissues from her designer bag and handed it Draco.

"Sorry," she said, giggling. "Boy I'll miss this."

"Watching me wipe your spit from my face? You freak."

"I meant snogging, you oaf!"

"You mean you'll take a vow of chastity?"

"As if!"

Draco smirked evilly. "I hope my next girlfriend—"

"No one in their right mind would want to date you," Pansy said, leaning forward to give Draco a kiss on the cheek.

"It's okay, you've given me plenty of experience to handle crazy women. And what's not to love about me? I'm charming and nasty."

"There's one thing I regret," said Pansy, squeezing him tight. "I didn't make use of you enough."

"What," he asked, half-joking, "You mean, all those handbags weren't enough?"

Pansy sniffed into his shirt. "No, that's not what I meant."

"Oh yeah. I always knew you were using me for my body."

Pansy let out a loud sob and she wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. "I just can't believe you're leaving today!"

"Of all days, right? It's not like you knew for the whole of last year."

"Why did you have to take your NEWTS  _this_  winter? I thought I'd have at least one last year with you in Hogwarts."

"That'd be a complete waste of time." The memories of what happened during the Battle would plague him the entire time. Plus, he wouldn't have his little entourage. And what was life without a band of followers behind you?

"But that would've meant we could spend more time together."

"You were the one who wanted to break up."

"You did too."

"Long distance would never work," he added and he frowned when he heard the familiar sound of cameras clicking, seeing flashes off going off like a firework display. "Ugh."

"…I would have received too much attention. This isn't just about me, the other students would be affected too," Hermione said to a reporter as he shoved a recorder to her face.

"With her being in America for the next three years, how do you think your relationship will fare?"

"That's between us—" Hermione protested, having enough of her love life published and broadcast everywhere.

"What, Hermione? People are probably  _dying_ to know! We are kind of famous y'know." Ron leaned forward in excitement and grabbed the recorder out of the reporter's hand. "If our love held up while we were fighting with Voldemort, I can't imagine distance being a problem."

Reporters cooed at his declaration of love and at saying You-Know-Who's name aloud (people still refrained from saying it aloud out of sheer habit) and they cheered when Ron grabbed Hermione and gave her a loud, dramatic kiss. Hermione blushed—she could never initiate public affection—but returned the favour.

 _At least_ he _was enjoying the attention_ , Draco thought.

"Please," Hermione said after the display. "Could you please leave us, I'd like to spend our last moments in private."

Ron wrapped his arms around her and nodded. "Please. Just remember there will be plenty more of this from years to come."

The reporters laughed good-naturedly and in nothing short of a miracle, began to disperse. Draco's mouth hung open. Being a war-hero really was something; even the media who had finally lost interest in him after months and months of hounding listened to what the Golden Trio said.

Draco and Pansy mirrored each other's expression of pure disgust and turned away from the mass of reporters and the Golden Couple.

"Bet they won't last a week," Pansy said in a particularly loud and obnoxious tone so there was no chance for the couple to miss what she said.

Ron made a disgusted noise and stomped towards them. "Ron, don't. She's not worth our time."

Pins struggled to stay in Hermione's hair and from the slickness of her hair. Draco grinned; he could tell she spent at least an hour with a bottle of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion having expected cameras.

"Draco, let's go somewhere else," whined Pansy, breaking him out of his observations. "I don't want to get too close. They have fleas!" Draco's gaze lingered on Hermione's face just to catch her reaction—a scowl—before turning away. "Like EW!"

"Malfoy." Hermione stopped in front of him, her neck rigid with tension. Ron turned bright red as though he was a volcano, about to erupt.

"Granger."

"Pug-face!"

"Freckle-face!"

"You're here," Hermione said to Draco.  _Of course, he's here!_  she thought.  _He's standing in front of me._

"Yes I am." Draco wrinkled his brow and his mind went on an overdrive to decipher what all these signs meant. She was at the departure gates at exactly the same time as him.

Salem Institute's orientation day was starting in two days' time.

Hermione Granger was a smart girl and she declined the offer to be the Head of the Magical Law department. She said she needed to educate herself further before taking a position with such a large responsibility.

She bit her lips and wondered what to say. She hadn't seen him since the Battle of Hogwarts but read plenty about him in the newspaper. "Salem?" she asked, having arrived to the same conclusion as him.

"Yes."

"What?" Ron asked. He appeared by Hermione's side, having grown tired of arguing with Pansy who for all her frivolity was an endless come-back machine. " _You,_  you're going to Salem? How did you get in? Buy your way in there with your dad's dirty money?"

"Ron!" Hermione snapped, heat rising to her face.

Draco looked at him as though he was an offending piece of rubbish. "I am not going to respond to that."

"You don't know what you're talking about. You idiot!" Pansy screamed at Ron before turning to Hermione. "Control him! He's embarrassing!"

"I'm not some animal!"

Hermione stepped in front of Ron, shooting him a furious look. "Can you not cause a scene and just wish me a goodbye?" she asked in a hushed whisper. Hermione tugged Ron's arm and lead him away.

The fire died in Ron's eyes and he grabbed her hands in his. "Sorry, 'ermione. Today was meant to be all about you. I'm sorry." He gave her a zillion-watt smile, and she flashed a smile back at him, just as bright, and showered him with kisses.

"Can you believe him?" Pansy fumed as Draco pulled her to the side. "They should put a collar on the likes of him! That animal," she huffed. "That Mudblood should have kept him on his leash—"

"Pansy."

"If this was Hogwarts I would have ordered Goyle to push him off the Astronomy Tower. Show them who's on top." She looked up at Draco and sighed when she saw the look on his face. "Whoops, sorry! I forgot, you've graduated from calling people that."

"That was Pucey's condition on being my patron." That didn't seem like a bad deal for Draco. "In the end, all my relatives were so consumed with hate for Muggles and non-purebloods, they didn't even care or love what they were supposed to be protecting. They gave up their humanity to protect their beliefs. I don't want to end up like them."

"Yes, yes. All propriety and no bullying makes Draco one dull boy. No wonder I'm dumping you." She went on her tip-toes and gave a kiss on his cheek. "That's what I'll tell them anyway."

He couldn't help but smile. "As if they would believe you."

"Oh, I'll make them."

"You are the best at spinning stories."

"I hate you."

"I know."

They hung in each other's embrace for a while longer before Pansy pulled back. "You should go," she said, looking down so Draco wouldn't see the tears forming in her eyes. He had told her on more than once occasion that he rather gouge his eyes out than watch her cry.

She knew it didn't mean that he would risk his vision to prevent her from crying, but sometimes she liked to interpret it that way.

Made things kind of romantic, in a morbid sense.

"So… I guess that's it," he said, pulling his arms off her and shoving them into his pockets.

"Yup."

"You know, I might actually miss you. See you," he said. He squeezed her once on the shoulder and headed towards the departure gates without a second look back.

He didn't even wait for Pansy to say good-bye. That jerk.

* * *

 The Muggle Revolution: Effective Solutions to Electromagnetic Interference

Author(s): K. Hwang, A. Pucey, P. White

Source:  _Transactions of the Institute of British Magic,_  New Serial, Vol 18:3 (2000), pp 309-325.

 ABSTRACT: In this paper, we identify the underlying problem with Muggle technology and magic as electromagnetic interference (EMI). We report the successful compatibility with magic and Muggle devices when they are built with the addition of a Faraday Cage (mesh constructed of ferrite metals) and supplementary charms. We find in our three models, integration with Muggle technology – electricity, battery, and associated devices are functional and operational with 95% supply reliability...

* * *

 

Draco and Hermione lined up behind other passengers as they waited to get their coats and hand-held luggage examined by the Customs. She rushed after Draco and grabbed his arm as soon after she collected her luggage.

"Granger?"

"I'm sorry," she blurted out. "What Ron said about your father… and your money. I hope you'll accept my apology."

"It's not like you were the one who said it."

"Still… I truly am sorry," she said, turning red while wondering why she was apologising to him.

"For what?" He rose one eyebrow at her.

"F-For what happened to you."

"Thank you?" he said, confused at her words.

Cue the most awful silence between the two.

"So… are you going to see Pansy in the holidays?" she asked when the awkward silence between them reached an unbearable saturation point.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "We just broke up."

"Oh." Was all she could say.  _They sure were touchy-feely for two people not in a relationship._

"Long distance relationships are a waste of time."

"Well!" said Hermione. "You don't know about that!" She lifted her chin as though she were meeting a challenge. "I'm sure  _some_ relationships can survive the distance. I mean, if you're meant to be together."

"You think you're meant to be with Weaselbee?" asked Draco, wrinkling his nose.

"Better than pug-face Pansy!" she snapped before regret filled her features. "Sorry, I didn't mean that."

Draco shrugged. "Guess Pansy and I weren't meant to be."

"There's always second chances. Maybe when you come back."

"Maybe." Draco's head tilted to the side, unconvinced of this.

Hermione gave a cautious smile. "There are. I'll prove to you second chances exist."

"Sorry?"

"When we arrive in Salem. Let's start off on a clean slate. Pretend not to know each other. Who knows, we might end up being friends."

"We invite those in first class step forward…"

He looked up at the attendant who had amplified her voice with her wand. "That's me." Draco hesitated before offering his hand to her. Hermione accepted his hand without delay and gave him a firm handshake. "To second chances," she said. Draco gave Hermione a shy smile and found her expression mirrored his.

"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy," said the attendant, smiling up at him.

As the boat lifted off the water, it rumbled and shook as it made its ascent. Two people sat on one flying ship with fifty seats between them. In first class was Draco Malfoy, trying not to hurl his lunch. He never liked flying boats but they were definitely the safest for long-distance travels. Port-Keys of course were faster, but the risk of letting go of the key when one were travelling between two countries meant grievous injury or finding oneself dead in the middle of nowhere. In the economy-seat, Hermione gripped the side of her chair as she swallowed multiple times to clear her ears, handling the change in altitude better than Draco.

The boat rose above the turbulence and soon the seatbelt signs over their heads flickered off. The two on the boat stared out of their windows, lost in thought. Hermione kept a steady heart believing her relationship would withstand the distance while Draco nursed his sore (but not broken) heart. Something had just transpired beyond their awareness, and they could no longer say they loathed each other's existence.

Draco looked through the window, mulling over the burning question which would continue to plague him for the better half of the decade as he headed towards his destination. A flight attendant walked the length of the ship, making sure everyone was comfortable in their seats. He brushed past Draco, and the blond snapped out of his reverie as the man apologised to him.

" _Sorry." –_ Hermione's words echoed in his head.  _Second chances._  He smiled a rare smile without malice.


	2. Chapter One: Arty Artie's Number Problem

It began like this.

_It was like cannibalism, until the prey fought back._ That was what Hermione Granger said to Draco Malfoy twenty minutes after the incident in the comfort of their office, but right now the two of them could only stare at the scene in horror.

A hideous woman sitting in front of Draco in a ridiculous purple suit, being the same width and height, drew the most unflattering resemblance to a giant grape. She was dying—as were the rest of the human race— but she was accelerating towards death at a phenomenal speed and all she could do was flail her arms in the air as she choked on one tiny grape. Her huge forearms swept across the table and everything, the glass of water, the bowl of grapes and her large bag (and all its contents) spilt onto the carpet floor.

"Director Mar!" Hermione's chair clattered to the floor when she shot out of her chair.

Director Mar flounced on the floor. She crept up onto her all-fours and heaved like a cat trying to cough up a stubborn fur-ball caught in its throat.

"What do we do?" asked Mr. Bughes, his eyes wide with panic.

"Call for an ambulance," suggested Artie, flipping open his phone. The brown-haired man dialed for the emergency services and pressed his phone to his ear. "The medics can Apparate and take her away—"

"Does anyone know how to perform the Heimlich maneuver?" asked Draco, looking around the crowded hotel restaurant. Everyone had stood up and peered at the spectacle.

"HERAGH!" Director Mar coughed and the grape lodged in her throat flew out of her mouth and rolled a couple feet.

"Oh, thank goodness you're all right," Hermione said, placing her hand against her heart.

"Uh, sorry, she's all right now. We won't be needing assistance anymore. Thank you!"

"Is the contract safe...?" Mr. Bughes made his way back to his seat and picked up his pen.

"The contract?" Director Mar bent down and picked up the slim black file.

"We're lucky no water spilt onto it," said Draco, giving her a pen to sign immediately, just in case she decided to collapse from the shock or something.

Director Mar picked her chair up and it creaked when she placed her entire weight on it. "Done," she said as she scrawled her complicated signature across the bottom of one page. She handed it to Mr. Bughes.

He accepted the pen and scrawled his name across it too. He stood up, relief in his face and smiled as he shook the lady's hand. "Pleasure doing business with you."

"Artie, as our intern would you like to do the honours? Say the words that close the deal?" Hermione placed a hand on the younger man's shoulder and he grinned at her.

"On behalf of Prewett and Pucey, we have witnessed and authorized a transaction between the Mar and Bughes Companies."

Nosy people in the restaurant broke out into applause at the sign of a happy ending. After all, the woman hadn't died, the intern was given the credit and the business deal completed without delay. That was what it seemed like, and what Draco and Hermione thought occurred.

They didn't realize until three hours later.

* * *

 

Muggle Technology and Its Impacts on Our Society: A Contemporary Introduction

By N.E Colt

Stormwell Publishers Ltd, 2005

INTRODUCTION:

Following the findings of Dr. Hwang's teams in 2000, we are within the third wave of the Muggle Revolution. While the growth of Muggle things and science have become commonplace in our everyday lives, the full impacts of the imported technology has not yet been realized. Have we lost our identity as a magical community? What kind of gifts did you receive last Christmas? Do you prefer to use a cell phone or Fire Conference when talking with your mates?

* * *

 

**(22 December; Arty Artie's Problem with Numbers)**

Five years since they met at the International Terminal, flew across the Atlantic Ocean on a flying boat, and spent three years together in the same cohort, Draco and Hermione became close classmates. Though they lost contact in the year after returning from America, due to new jobs and separate social circles, they became colleagues when Pucey and Prewett – the two largest Hired-help and Civil Consultancy firms decided to join hands. Sharing a large office with someone for six months did certain things.

Hermione had once said the long hours they spent together could only make them closer or drive them to poison each other's lunches.

"Granger…" Draco said as he looked inside a black file he was about to hand to his boss, Maurice Pucey. "What's this?"

Hermione took the file out of his hands, inspected the contents and her expression morphed from faint confusion to express horror, all intentions to eat out for lunch forgotten.  _Merlin!_  "Where's Artie?" she managed to squeak out.

_Da dum… da dum… da dum—dadumda—_

A phone vibrated three floors below vibrated and its display lit up; it made a loud buzzing noise as the phone against a wooden surface.

"Hate to break you love birds up, but that's your phone." A woman with curly brown hair and hazel skin picked it off the countertop and threw it at the couple.

Artie who was sitting on the lunchroom couch beside his girlfriend caught the phone. "Thanks, Martha."

"Who's Shark?" she asked. Leave it up to Artie to set the Jaw's theme song especially for the caller. He was the type to pay exhausting detail to trivial things and tended to overlook important matters. "Draco Malfoy? I guess it fits his image."

"Sh!" said the girlfriend, Ellen. Cute and petite, with lush, long black hair, she had eyes that turned into thin lines whenever she smiled. She was an angel… at least that was what Artie told Martha the first time he introduced her, but in Martha's opinion as a professional third-wheel, it remained to be seen.

Martha stuck her tongue at Ellen and she glared back at her. "Hermione? Why's she the shark?" she asked Artie again.

"Something Draco called her yesterday…" Ellen said for him but never managed to finish the answer as Artie shot out of his seat, his face painted in varied shades of gray.

"Uh… I have to go." He rushed for the door, flung it open and rushed out.

Ellen and Martha heard him clamber up the fire escape.

"Well, bye." Martha shook her head and headed back into the staff kitchen to make her coffee. "And this was the first time I got to see him this week. I swear, the two of them overwork him."

"They just finished up the Mar-Bughes deal," Ellen sighed and got out of her chair. "Hope he's not in trouble. You know how he is when he's stressed."

"I swear it's because he's with you," Martha called out over the whistle of the kettle.

"Or maybe it's because of your face!"

"Real classy."

* * *

 

Artie wasn't in trouble, but he felt like he was about to have vultures eat his entrails. The last three weeks he'd spent tailing Hermione had been what Ellen called three 'ex's. Extraordinary, exhausting and _excruciating_. Draco Malfoy had called her a shark because like one, she had to keep moving or she would die. Everything was sink or swim.

The elevator door slid open—Pucey got rid of the rattling ones after the first wave of Muggle technology hit the wizarding community after the war—and he ran his fingers through his brown hair and straightened his navy suit before he rapped twice on a door with two name plaques hanging on its front.

_Hermione Granger_

_Draco Malfoy_

_Junior Partners_

He opened the door and gulped when he saw his two superiors. Draco sat behind his desk like a man with an offer you couldn't refuse and Hermione stood beside him. Their gazes zeroed onto him as he stepped through the threshold.

Hermione handed him the black file they had taken from the hotel. "Read it."

Artie leafed through the content. The Mar-Bughes deal.

"Read the contract," clarified Draco in a voice which suggested murder would be on his hands in the imminent future.

Artie's bottom lip wobbled. He felt weak in the knees and not because he was oh so besotted by Draco's charming  _exterior_ , but because he was afraid of Draco's murderous  _interior_. Artie scrambled to the back of the file and his eyes grew wide when he saw it—

"How many zeroes are in a million?" asked Hermione in a kind teacher's voice. It was often said Draco Malfoy, his bosses' partner, was an arsehole. But compared to Hermione Granger's temper, Draco was nicest arsehole you'd ever meet.

"Six."

"Correct. Now how many zeroes are there in the contract?"

Hermione Granger was like a shark, aggressive, with a tendency to rip your head off if she felt irritated or peckish (or at least that's what Draco meant yesterday).

"Holy shit…" Artie's windpipe constricted and he heard a roar in his ears. "I…" started Artie. He had a horrible, bad-flip-floppy feeling in his stomach now.

Six. What an interesting number. The third positive even number. People sometimes had six fingers and toes. Six came after five. Haha.

"The answer's four," said Draco. " _Obviously,_  you don't know how to count."

"W-What do I do?" He looked like a possum caught scavenging in your neighbour's rubbish bin.

"Can you explain to me why you  _said_  there were  _six_  zeros yesterday and today there are  _four_ ," she said, " _After_  the client signed the  _contract_?"

The numbers Four and Six danced around Artie's head, taunting him. He always hated numbers. He didn't become a Liberal Art's major in Salem Institute and seek a job at Prewett's consultant firm because he liked numbers.

Hermione looked down at her scrunched hands and blinked away the tears threatening to spill. "We can fix this."

"No you can't," said Draco. "The intern  _here,"—_ he glared at Artie as he said this—"screwed up royally. We need to tell Pucey and Prewett and see what we can do."

"No," she said again, her voice even more strangled this time. "We can find a way. They won't even have to know. I'll schedule an appointment with Director Mar, I'll try convince her to sign a contract."

"Would you in your right mind, sign a contract which makes you pay 4,950,000 galleons  _more_?"

Hermione looked down at her shoes before she rushed past Artie. "Excuse me," she said in an unhinged voice. She covered her hands with her face; she didn't want to cry in front of them.

"And this is why I find the immunity rule ridiculous," spat Draco, looking as though he wanted to set Artie on fire. "Why does the mentor get all the blame when the intern screws up? A P&P internship should have stuck with the usual clause: 'The intern agrees to indemnify any claims against Pucey and Prewett which arise from the wilful misconduct or negligence of his or her part.' But  _nooo_ , sole responsibility rests on the mentor."

The younger man failed to make an excuse.

"…shouldn't have trusted you…" grumbled Draco, "I should  _not_  have listened to Granger when she told me to treat you like an actual employee in the company."

"I…"

"Congratulations, you've just ruined the career of the Brightest Witch of Our Generation."

Hermione made it to the toilets and managed to lock herself into a cubicle before she burst into tears.  _Five million galleons!_  Her fingers tried to tease the toilet paper out of the dispenser but she couldn't pull it out… tiny bits of tissue fell onto the floor and she stomped on them with venomous spite. Hot tears dripped onto her black pencil skirt.

The bathroom door slammed open. A pair of shoes squeaked against the tiled floors and Hermione  _should've_  realized heels always  _clacked_  on hard surfaces—and there was a knock on her cubicle door which she ignored.

She needed to talk to Director Mar immediately. See if she'd change back to the original contract.

The person rapped on the door again.

"It's taken!" she snapped. There were two more stalls and they had been empty when she came in.

"I know."

"This is the girl's toilet you know."  _It wasn't like_ he  _was in any particular trouble,_ she thought.  _Pucey might yell at him but Artie's my intern so I'm the one getting sacked._

"Yes, I can read," he said wryly.

_If only Artie had the same skill!_  She scrunched up the ends of her skirt with her fists as she thought this. "Just give me a minute. I swear, if you leave me alone for a minute I will come out."

"I'll be waiting in our office."

She sat on the toilet seat and finally managed to yank a section of the toilet roll out of the dispenser. She dried her eyes, blew her nose and collected herself before swinging the door open. As much as she loved making plans, she was horrible at it, and from experience her plans were doomed to fail.

But an idea was hatching in her mind. Their bosses' end-of-year leave began tomorrow and were on a break until the 5th of January. That gave her time. She could ask the Director to re-sign the contract and her boss would be none the wiser. She could retrieve the five million galleons before their bosses found out.

* * *

 

Martha snorted as she buzzed Artie and Ellen into the company. Ellen had just told her about Artie's mistake so she would be careful around him and cheer him up—as his best friend of course. "Are you an idiot or something?" she asked him.

"Martha!" Ellen said, offended.

"Martha!" The other girl mimicked her. She turned to Artie and shook him by the shoulders. "Honestly, you believe you could be  _that_  careless?"

Artie hung his head in shame. "I screwed up."

Martha climbed onto the receptionist's desk and swung herself around so she could stand on the other side. "Excuse me for I am a mere uneducated receptionist, but exactly how many times did you have to write five million?"

He wrinkled his brow. "Many times?"

"And you did this over a period of?"

"Four days."

"You  _did_ know a million had five zeroes, right?"

"There's six."

"Good," Martha said, nodding her head. "So you're telling me you made a mistake of writing four zeroes  _every single time_  over four days?"

"That is unlikely," Ellen conceded. "You wrote up the draft contract and once Hermione made the proper corrections you copied it word for word, right? She would have noticed something like that."

He nodded.

"Forgive me for being a cynic here, but I smell foul play." She hopped over to her desk, pressed a series of buttons and held the receiver to her ear. "Yes, is this Hermione? It's Martha here. You're needed down at the reception. Is Draco in the office too? Good. Tell him to come down as well. It's an emergency."

"Wouldn't it make sense if we went up to their office?" asked Ellen.

Martha shook her head and placed her hands on her hips. "Ellen," she said her voice full of cloying honey. "It would not."

"Pray tell why?"

"Because I'm the  _receptionist_. And I'm under contract to stay at my desk unless I'm on break but I refuse to miss out on yelling at Hermione and Draco. That's got to be a once in a lifetime thing. Take a seat," she said, putting on a customer-service smile and pointed to the leather couch beside her desk.

Artie leaned onto the desk. "Thanks, mate. You might've saved me. When Hermione said I screwed up, I just accepted it. She's usually right."

"Usually is not  _always,"_  grumbled Martha. "When you're not star struck like me, you see things clearly. What  _I_  can't believe is that Ellen believed it too. It's not like she's a stranger to the rich and famous people prancing around her."

"Martha…"

"But I guess that's why you're lucky to have a  _girlfriend_  and a  _best mate_ ," she said to him with a cuttingly bland smile. "One accepts you for whoever you turn out to be while the other doesn't take any bullshit."

* * *

 

If anyone bothered to come in on the pre-Christmas Eve Day (ceremoniously known as the official 'Skip Work, it's  _Almost_  Christmas' Day), they could have seen a curious sight of Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Artie Sommers, Ellen Kim huddled around the receptionist, Martha Capra's, desk.

"So in short, who benefits from this if it's a fraud?" Hermione asked, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Draco drummed his fingers on Martha's desk. "Director Mar, obviously. She gets all the supplies for a cheap price."

"Let's not forget P&P would have to shoulder the cost for Bughes. They'll be paying little for all those benefits," said Ellen, flicking through the pages of the contract. "Bughes is also one of the companies against Pucey merging with Prewett. He said in a press conference three months back a lack of competition between two big firms would take up all the jobs. He's also against us getting Ministry-approved. Thinks P&P should stick only to civil cases and leave their fingers out of the criminal ones."

"Hate to break up your little talk, but look at this," he said, pointing to a sentence in the middle of a page, "I thought you changed it back, but I remember changing this sentence in the final draft. I think this is the second-to-last version we sent to Mar and Bughes."

"So the culprit is Director Mar then," said Artie. "Her choking on the grape. They must've been staged it."

"The contract fell on the floor and she picked it up," Hermione said. "She must've prepared a separate contract and switched it then."

"Mr. Bughes' shock looked real enough to me," said Draco, the mastermind of deceit and insincere expressions.

"But we can't be sure. You shouldn't go accusing people of things like that without proper proof," said Martha to Hermione and Draco. Hermione turned to Artie and took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry I assumed you were the one who screwed up, I should have had more faith in you."

"Don't worry about it, even I didn't have enough faith in myself."

Everybody turned to look at Draco shuffling in his shoes. "What?" he said, turning away. "He's not _my_ intern. Why do I have to apologise?" Hermione shot him a glare and punched him on the shoulder. "Fine, fine! Artie, I'm sorry for doubting you. Not that I had  _any_  reason for doing so." The three girls shot another glare at him but he shrugged it off, that was the closest thing he was going to give to Artie.

"You should you tell Mr. Prewett and Mr. Pucey about this. I think they would be the best people to handle this sort of thing," said Ellen, looking uncertain.

"Or we could just ask for a re-sign," suggested Martha. She picked up the receiver and listened to the shrill ring. "I'll ask the Mar Company receptionist to schedule you in for a quick appointment today. The receptionist community is close."

Ellen rolled her eyes as Martha crossed the fingers on her free hand together, to show just how tight-knit the community was and she shook her head.

"Hello, Jenny. This is Martha. Merry Christmas to you, too! I was wondering if you could do me a small favour…"

"Come in," Jenny said when Hermione had announced her arrival at the Mar Company. "You may see the Director now."

"Miss Granger," Director Mar said to her. She sat on a couch next to her desk, and sipped on cup of coffee. "Why did you ask to meet me? We've already signed the deal. Everything's confirmed and ready to go." The way she smiled made Hermione realize she knew  _exactly_  what she was here for.  _It is her! She's the one who's doing this._

"I believe we made a little mistake," Hermione began, taking the seat offered to her. She gritted her teeth and fought to stay calm. Honesty was the best path to take. She would admit their mistake and see what to do from there.

"Really?" said Director Mar with a condescending grin on her face. It was the same expression Hermione wore after she devoured a whole jar of cookies on a Friday night. And in the same way she felt sick after finishing all the chocolate goodness, Hermione could only hope Director Mar would feel sick and  _defeated_  by the time she walked out of this room.

Come on, she was the heroine of the story; fate _had_ to be working with her. "The contract is different to what we've discussed. We have to re-sign it." She gave a folder for the Director to read over.

"So it is. Lucky for me the latter contract works out in my favour. The contract's not going to change… again."

"Director Mar!" She wanted to strangle the woman, but being bound under the social contract, she restrained herself, choosing to go through the Potions Solubility flow-chart in her head. It calmed her a little. "Did you replace the contract?"

"What do you mean?" she asked with an air of innocence. "That's a serious accusation. Do you have any evidence of this?"

"No," admitted Hermione.

"Didn't think so. If you've got any evidence come and charge me. Otherwise, tell your boss how you made a mistake. He's not the type to believe in conjectures."

A noise thrummed in her head and she turned green at the thought of having to shoulder the responsibility of the mess. Artie might get some of the blame, P&P would never consider him as an employee after this mess but she would… she could lose her job over this. Though she was the company's rising star, a cute ' _whoopsie daisy'_  or  _'te-he! I made a mistake'_  couldn't cover losing 4,950,000 galleons. She was going to get the Hogwarts equivalent of expulsion.

Hermione Granger, who had graduated top of her year from Salem, was going to be fired. She would lose her dream job, where her boss allowed her to choose from the broad range of cases, she would never again feel the satisfaction of completing an assignment, knowing that she had helped someone and contributed to the good of society...

"I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do."

"Nothing you  _would_  do," she retorted.

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione snatched the folder away from the director and stormed out of the reception. She grabbed a handful of powder and yelled "Pucey & Prewett Firm". As much as she hated herself right now, she would  _not_ cry in front of Director Mar. She climbed out of the fireplace and ran to seek refuge in the office she shared with Draco.

Her tears resided when she saw the lone man sitting in their office, finishing up on the accounts and her heart leapt at the sight of him. Here was someone she could rely on. Draco Malfoy was incredible at connoting schemes. With his help she could succeed.

"Malfoy?" she called out to him and she fidgeted, pulling out random books from the self-reference shelf by the door.

"Hm?" He didn't look up from his cup of disgusting sweet coffee brewed with exactly sixty coffee beans. During college, he had an insane obsession of adopting rituals of great men in hopes of becoming one. He didn't know if it pulled him onto such a path but it got him through college. That itself was a miracle.

"Director Mar did it and..."

He saw her expression and his heart plummeted. "You couldn't get her to re-sign the contract. She's not the type to leave evidence hanging round either. I bet she burned the real contract first thing."

"Draco Malfoy, you know how much I love you?" said Hermione.

When she asked him that Draco should have taken it as a signal to grab his tailored coat and run for the door. The bushy-haired woman in front of him was bad news and she was about to drag him into her personal tragedy.

"Tell me something I don't know," said Draco as he rolled his eyes. "How long have we been having the affair for? Three years?"

"Try five," said Hermione smiling.

"Wow, time sure flies."

"Seriously, Malfoy. You don't know what a delight you are." Hermione sniffed and tried to brush the tears away from her eyes before Draco could notice. But he did.

"So what are you going to do about it?" asked Draco, crossing his arms.

"What do you mean 'you'?" she asked, taking a deep breath. "You mean 'us', right?"

"Oh  _hell_ , no. Granger. I am not getting involved in this," said Draco. "We're going to tell P&P exactly what happened."

"Without evidence they can't believe us. You know how they work."

"Um-hum."

Hermione pursed her lips, indignant. "We're a team. We are only as strong as our weakest link!" she said. "I need help."

Draco stared out of the window for a bit, he drummed his fingers on the table, an inane bad habit which had driven him mad when he first saw her do it. Then he started hearing phantom taps so he picked up her little quirk whenever he thought, having decided real taps sounded more  _sane_  and preferable.

"Please," she said, her voice wobbled and she sounded like she would burst into tears if he said no. "Give me a way out, a plan. Anything."

_Tap. Tap. Tap._  The seconds to Hermione amounted to infinity as he made his choice. "I have a plan. But it might not work," he said.

Her smile blossomed and his heart zoomed around his ribcage. Despite the resolution he made countless times throughout the last five years, he didn't like seeing Hermione upset. Who wouldn't jump at the chance to prove himself as the Prince Charming and rescue the damsel in distress? Even though the princess was pretty much betrothed with another prince. Not that the Weasel was a prince!

"Anything is better than nothing. What's the plan?"

A large part of it started like this.


	3. Chapter Two: Lip Lock

Someone once said the most private place could be found in the most public of places. Following this logic, they confirmed their Secret Plan in the staff lunch room.

"What do you think?" Draco asked as he did his best to ignore the hygiene standards in a place people prepared food in. For the life of him, he couldn't understand why people left noodles in the sink. It was insane, disgusting!

Hermione, in much better spirits, poured the remains of her cup noodles down the sink and under Draco's insistence, ran the basin with water until everything disappeared down the drain."How do we get the Polyjuice?" She winced, remembering the first time she used the potion. "We don't have enough time to brew it."

"I can get some."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "You're in contact with the League of Evil?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Blaise."

"Oh," said Hermione shortly. She needed no further elaboration. "He's not doing anything illegal these days… right?"

"If breaking hearts counts as a crime, he belongs in Azkaban," said Draco, scowling. "He uses it as a quick getaway."

"Who does he pretend to be?"

"Me," he sighed. "I lost a stupid bet and gave him a few hairs on my head. Plus, I'm his only friend. He lost all his male friends when he stole their girlfriends."

Hermione scoffed and shook her head and wondered why Draco was friends with awful people. She leaned back in her chair and stretched. "You have the most awful friends."

"Don't say bad things about people I care about."

"You keep making comments about meant Ron," she countered.

Draco looked at Hermione and grabbed her by the shoulders in mock courtesy. "So Granger, how are you and Weaselbee? Happy playing house together, I presume? Does he plan to pop the big question anytime soon? Can I be one of your bridesmaids? You might not be able to tell, but I'm quite a stunner in a dress."

Hermione shook her head, horrified at the idea. "Nothing like that. In fact…"

"Trouble in paradise?"

"No, it's nothing. But I am annoyed with him right now."

"What, did he throw away your bonus card when you needed one more stamp to get a discount or something?"

Hermione glared at Draco. "You couldn't possibly understand."

Draco grinned self-indulgently, showing off his designer-brand watch. "Nope, sorry I can't sympathize with being poor."

"We're not poor," said Hermione defensively. "It's just hard to buy a proper piece of property. That's why I'm trying to save every knut I can. Too bad it's against the law to exchange Muggle money with Galleons or I'd be loaded.  _Of course_ , some idiot had to crash the wizarding economy like that!"

"Er—" interjected Draco, knowing he had to stop Hermione from ranting or they'd be here until nightfall…

"What is with men and Quidditch? I suppose I'm being sexist and there is a glaring example of Ginny running off to play and write for the sports—not that there's anything wrong with it—except you're playing one of the most dangerous sport created since civilization started; I'm sure the gladiator rings were safer than a game of Quidditch—"

Draco cringed. It was a bad idea to ask her about Ron. "Stop!" he said, covering his ears. "I'm not Ron, so don't vent your frustrations at me."

Hermione's glare—she'd been glaring at Draco—softened. "Sorry."

"Remind me never to ask you what your personal life's like," he said, shaking his head.

"You're the best."

"I know." They shared a smile three shades more affectionate than necessary. He unfolded his arms and at a business-like distance, squeezed her shoulder. "Everything's going to be okay."

"Thank you," she said. The kettle reflected a warped picture of his hand that lingered on her shoulder and her hand crept up to touch his. Artie stepped into the room at the most inopportune time. He blushed and turned around, leaving in one swift motion.

Draco's hand flew off her shoulder and Hermione's dropped to her side. She scowled at the door to the lunchroom and yelled, "Seriously? He's going to run?"

Artie, who had been hiding behind the door, poked his head out and waved with a sheepish grin on his face. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't want to intrude… I didn't meant to run away—"

"But you did," Hermione interrupted.

"Like a girl," added Draco with extra viciousness, embarrassed Artie had caught him off guard. Not that he had been doing something immoral. Yet he knew resting his hand on her shoulder and keeping it there for an unreasonable amount of time was… bad. Inappropriate. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"Hey, cowering from fear is not a feminine trait."

Artie licked his lips and spread his arms out as though he was preparing himself in some sort of sacrificial ritual. "Do what you want with me."

"Don't swing that way," Draco said, shaking his head.

"No, thank you," she replied.

* * *

 

**(23rd December)**

People walked in and out of the Mar company. Hermione and Draco took advantage on the human need to eat lunch. They crouched beneath bushes on a lookout for suitable candidates. After a few minutes of prowling, Draco pointed at a couple on a bench who was eating their sandwiches and were engaged in a quiet but intense discussion.

"Those two?"

"Yeah, it's safe bet. They  _have_  to work here," she said, looking around. The place is good too. Quiet: no one would walk in on us."

He nodded grimly. This was the part of the plan he felt most uncomfortable about. They approached the lunching pair from behind—" _Stupefy_ ," they whispered in unison.

The lunch-couple slouched forward. Hermione and Draco levitated the pair and took them around the side of the building. Hermione, having stripped an unconscious person before (she had sneaked into the Ministry using the same method) dressed herself in the lady's pantsuit and pulled a few strands of hair from the woman's head. She uncapped the Polyjuice potion with a  _pop!_  placed the hairs into the potion and swallowed the concoction in one gulp.

"Yuck, this stuff is nasty," Draco said, and Hermione saw his features morphing. Within seconds, she saw two identical men; one unconscious and stripped down to his underwear and the other wore a navy suit, scowling at the awful aftertaste of Polyjuice potion.

"Let's get moving," Draco said after hiding the bodies in the bushes. They passed through the firm's double doors and Hermione nodded at the security guard who gave her a smile.

They entered the elevator and pressed the button for the third floor. The previous day, Hermione managed to get the layout of the Mar Company and it turned out a filing room on the third floor stored their company's files that needed processing.

"Let's go replace that contract," Draco said, shifting from one leg to the other. He wasn't brave and if it wasn't for Hermione, he wouldn't have attempted such a plan with a ten-foot pole.

"The contract would be kept in files room, right? Level three."

The elevator doors opened and the pair looked left and right before leaving the elevator. "It's here," said Draco pointing to the door at the end of the corridor.

Hermione tried for the door and it rattled against her grasp. "It's locked." She took out a hairpin from her bag and began picking the door.

"You know, magic would be so much faster," murmured Draco, still unconvinced she could replace a key with wire.

"But traceable. And the whole point is  _not_ to be traced." She gritted her teeth as she felt the time tick away. The Polyjuice would last for half an hour, so every second was precious to them. "Let's hope that the Mar Company has a coherent filing system."

The lock clicked and the door swung open. Hermione gave Draco an 'I told you so' look before slipping into the room. Inside there were shelves and on the shelves were boxes of folders and files lined together like tombstones. Draco shut the door behind them and pointed to the left side of the room. "You start from the left, and I'll start from the right." He pulled out a box and saw the number on its side. "1998."

Hermione rushed over to Draco's side. "Much closer than mine. I was in the 1960s. That's when the company started." She jerked her thumb at the boxes on the shelf in the middle of the room. "Think it could be from there?"

"It makes sense." He walked over and nodded. "Thank goodness for Director Mar's filing system. This makes everything so much easier—they're marked by months here."

Draco pulled out the box labeled 'December' and rummaged through its contents. His hands ran through a series of files before he stopped at a black one with the gold inscription Pucey and Prewett on the bottom right corner. "It's here!"

The rattle of the door knob ruined their moment of triumph and their happy faces morphed into ones of horror. Hermione darted to Draco's side and replaced the old contract with the new one (trespassing, forging; go big or go home).

Draco pulled out his wand and set the old contract on fire. The file violently combusted and an orange-green flame reduced the paper to black soot just as the door swung open.

"Follow my lead." Hermione pulled him down by his tie and crushed her lips against his.


	4. Chapter Three: Three Storeys Down

Hermione's had a philosophy, when in doubt, resort to clichés. There was a reason why they were clichés, and that was because it had worked many times before. Taking pointers from what do when caught in the file room (one in where you were  _not_ supposed to be in), she grabbed Draco by his tie—she had always wanted to mash lips by grabbing someone by the tie—and pressed her lips against his. She found Draco more than accepting –Merlin was that his tongue?—Hermione clenched her eyes shut.

Kissing. She was kissing Draco Malfoy. Even though he wasn't in his body, she was still kissing  _him!_ Bad bad bad bad. All this was caused by the stress from undercover missions and imminent danger, she decided.

"Alex?"

Hermione broke off the kiss and looked behind her. Draco lifted his head up to see a woman standing with a file in her hand. Her face was white and her hands shook. She looked as though she was about to collapse.

"Oh my god. Oh my god," she said, leaning against one of the shelves for support. "You really were cheating on me!"

Hermione gave him a nudge on the shoulder. She glared at him and jerked her head at the woman, gesturing for him to do something.

"Baby…" he said awkwardly. "It was a mistake."

The woman's head shot up and she stared at him with hostile confusion. Draco gulped and he placed a hand on the small of Hermione's back, signaling for her to run and never look back.

"I'm so, so, sorry," said Draco, his voice wobbling. "I love you; don't leave me. Please?"

The woman approached the couple with fury in her eyes. She slapped Draco on the cheek and he winced at the sharp sting.

"Who the fuck are you?!" roared the woman. She grabbed Hermione by the arm and pulled her to the side. "Alex, what is going on, I—" She froze and took a few uncertain steps back. Then she whipped out her wand and pointed it at the two imposters. "You're not Alex, are you?"

Draco had placed his weight onto the balls of his feet and aligned his body towards the door. Hermione shifted sideways to block the woman's aim to the door. She held both hands up. "I'm sorry he cheated on you, but—"

Two things happened. Draco sprinted towards the door and yanked it open. The woman in front of Hermione shot a hex at her and she flew backwards into the row of shelves, taking boxes down with her. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head and it felt as though someone had poured gasoline and set her chest on fire. She took sharp breaths and fought to keep her consciousness. The last thing she needed was to become deadweight.

"SECURITY!"

Hermione closed her eyes and stopped trying to hold her head up. She wouldn't be able to escape with that hex, it hurt like hell.  _At the very least, Draco got out of this,_ she thought lazily. She heard a gasp in the background and someone was shaking her.

"Now's not the time to be taking a nap! We've got to run!" He dragged her onto her feet and they ran towards the nearest office. "It's not a good hiding place, but they'll assume we've ran downstairs," he said.

Hermione nodded and coughed as she came out of her daze. She pushed him under an office desk by his head and crawled in beside him, pulling a chair in front of them. It served as an ineffective cover as the walls facing the corridors were glass. When she lifted her hand off Draco's head, she gasped in horror.

"What is it?" Draco asked. Tuffs of blond hair sprouted from a field of brown.

"You're changing back," whispered Hermione, panic colouring her voice. At the same time, she was morphing from a dirty blonde back to her normal brunette self.

"Apparate us out of here." Draco grabbed her arm and scrunched his eyes, preparing himself for a side-along.

Hermione shut her eyes and thought of the café next to the P&P building. "I can't," she said with mounting despair. "They have anti-Apparition wards. We have to leave this building to Apparate out of here."

Draco blinked a few times, trying to process this. "Should we hand ourselves over?"

Adrenaline rushed into her brain like a tsunami wave and she tried her best to fight the shakes. She couldn't fail here. "They'll have all perimeters sealed off until they catch us."

Draco laughed shakily. "How about surrendering?" If they surrendered now, they might let them off easily. He had a feeling as they waited longer their ideas would grow more desperate and dangerous. He didn't know if he had the guts or the insanity to execute them.

"This isn't the best plan, but it might work. I think. How about we jump out of the window and then I'll Apparate us while we're still in the air."

The expression on Draco's face was priceless. He looked like a petrified goldfish. "You are—" he spluttered, trying to comprehend the absurdity of the idea.

"It's the only way we can get out of here," she said, trying her best to convince him. "I can't think of any other way. You can do it. We can climb onto that cabinet under a disillusionment charm, and jump out of the building. The Anti-Apparation wards can't affect us once we're outside. It's crazy, but it'll work."

"It's the third storey!" he exclaimed. She clamped her hand over his mouth and put a finger to his lips; he nodded and spoke in a lower tone. "I think we should hand ourselves in."

"No way. We'll get arrested if we get caught. That's trespassing, forgery, assault  _and_  vandalism," she said. "Forget about being fired, we'll be thrown in prison. Look, if you have a better idea let's hear it. If you don't, go with my one."

He shook his head. "This is insane," he said. He'd rather face a whole platoon of security guards than jump out from the third storey.

"But it's do-able." She looked behind them and saw a troop of security guards run past the office and into the storeroom. Then she turned to face him, her eyes pleading. "They'll be here next if once they've finished with the storeroom!"

"You sure we shouldn't surrender?" he asked one last time, giving her a shaky grin. "You could be my date to my family reunion in prison." She nodded and he took a deep breath before he muttered a disillusionment charm over them.

When she was sure no one was watching, she pushed the chair out and crawled out from under the table. "We can get out of this," Hermione whispered. She wished he wasn't so afraid of taking risks. Ron would've followed her plan without question.

Draco only grunted in reply. Each time someone passed by, they froze, fearing any movement would betray their location. After a few minutes, they were sweating from climbing up the book shelf and they perched on the window ledge. He let out a small groan of pain. There wasn't a lot of space on top of the cabinet so Hermione pressed against his back and the ledge cut into his thighs like a knife.

"Here we go," she said, sounding faint and not so sure of herself. "Three… two… one…"

Draco and Hermione slid out of the window and plummeted to kiss the ground. She felt a ticklish feeling rise up her stomach and her toes began to tingle as they free-fell out of the building. She heard Draco's muffled scream and she held onto him for dear life.

_Deliberation_ — and she soon realized, there was no way she could Apparate in this state…

The impact hurt less than she imagined. With a stroke of luck, they landed into a bush. She tested her ankles and let out a sigh of relief. The fall hadn't broken anything of hers so she was still in commission. People were staring down the window and yelling, having heard the crash. Their disillusionment charm had somehow survived the fall so as long as no one touched them, their identities were safe. She turned to Draco to grab him and run.

Draco had experienced ground-shock when leapt off his broom in second year. But this sort of pain was a different feeling all together. He supposed he was lucky he could still feel, but pain licked the balls of his feet to his ankle to his knees. He hissed as the agony finally screamed up his thighs and settled in his gut. It burned like mad and there was an explosion of white light in his eyes; he knew he was losing his consciousness...

_"...I just need to put in these specific scenes. Don't worry it'll be fine."_

_"His... they can piece together all..."_

_"Take care of..."_

Starting from the voices inside of his head, Draco turned to see Hermione's horrified face. She was screaming…

Blood trickled down Draco's nose and Hermione bit back a sob. She hadn't made it out of the jump because of luck. Hermione had landed on top of Draco and made him a cushion. A pin-cushion. A branch jutted out of his flesh; a sharp stake pierced his skin. She swished her wand and snapped the branch from the bush. He gave a shout. There were voices and she heard footsteps behind them.

_Deliberation, determination destination._

"Who's there?" she heard someone say around the corner, but before they could reach her, the two of them disappeared.

* * *

 

Nurses rushed towards Draco and levitated him onto a bed. Hermione grabbed onto his arm and refused to let go. Someone pulled her away and pushed her into a chair.

She could hear distant voices asking whether she was all right, and what happened. Hermione tried her best to answer the questions about Draco's condition but conveyed little else. One nurse suggested Hermione was in shock, and he was right. She was shocked. Shocked she relished her accelerated heart-rate, the adrenaline causing blood roar in her ears, how her brain worked twice as fast, and everyone around slowed to a saunter her eyes. Her life hadn't been so exciting–no–hadn't been in so much  _danger_  since the fateful and final battle in Hogwarts. She hated how she relished the feeling of being in control, at home and dare she say it,  _settled_  in the presence of danger, when she felt so little of those things in her day-to-day life.

Someone wrapped a blanket around her and started to clean her leg with antiseptic. She winced as the alcohol bit her fresh wounds. "The Healers are tending to him now," said the Healer without her asking. "It'll be a while until we know the full extent of injuries. He lost a lot of blood and he stopped breathing for a minute but we managed to resuscitate him…"

She could only nod as the nurse spoke and she felt even guiltier for how great she felt. "Can I see him? I need to go. I have to see him." The nurse held her down as she tried to stand.

"Miss Granger, you must stay calm—"

"It's my fault, if anything happens to him..."

A scream reverberated through the halls first a few meters away, then directly in front of her. A clean hand grabbed her own bloodied ones. "Draco's dead?!" A woman wrenched the nurse's shoulder backwards and within three seconds, Hermione was choking on a silk scarf; breathing holes covered by the steady pressure of the woman's hand on her face. Hermione thrashed and bucked the woman to the floor before there was any harm done. The nurse kept her down as she glared at Hermione.

"Parkinson. Pansy Parkinson! I'm down as Draco Malfoy's next of kin. Now get your hands off me or I will see you in court!" she screeched. No longer pinned to the ground, she collected herself and glared at the nurse who mumbled an apology. "My wand started glowing—that would only happen when he's really hurt, right?" s

"We set the wands to glow when the patient is brought into hospital unconscious," the nurse answered.

"So he is dead!" she wailed.

"Draco Malfoy is not dead. He's  _. ._ He's having surgery right now."

Upon hearing the news, Pansy sagged as though she were a puppet with her strings cut. "If he's not dead, then why did I get all worked up for?" The woman turned to face Hermione, her bob swishing with her. She looked like a mess with her eyeliner smudged and dress askew.

Hermione looked at Pansy with eyes wide and felt as though she would never be able to close her mouth again. "You're Pansy Parkinson? B-But you look…"

"Beautiful?" she supplied.

"Yes," agreed Hermione, but she meant say 'different'. She no longer looked like the pug-faced girl she went to school with. Instead, she looked more like a doll… puberty sure did wonderful things. Wow, why didn't puberty hit her like a bus, too?

Savoring Hermione's wonder and attention on her, Pansy leaned in and whispered into Hermione's ear. "It's with the help of modern technology."

Hermione gave her a puzzled look, she didn't understand. Then Pansy pointed to her nose, cheekbones and jaw.

"Fixed them."

"Huh."

Pansy nodded and dug through her purse. She pulled out a mirror and gasped at the sight of herself. "Do you have any wet tissues?"

"No, sorry."

Pansy sighed and pulled out her handkerchief, trying to clean up as much as possible. She observed herself with a pocket mirror and snapped it shut, satisfied with her handiwork. "I'll need to redo my make up later," she said.

The curly-haired girl could only nod, still astonished how much the introduction of technology and science changed the wizarding community's views on Muggles. Wizards regarded them as equals instead of treating them like sub-humans scratching in dirt. She turned to study Pansy, who had procured a comb from her bag and was straightening her bob. She had ruffled it when she was strangling Hermione.

"What? Can't take your eyes off me? Sorry, I don't swing that way," she said when she caught Hermione's stare.

"I'm just surprised."

"That I'm talking to you?" Pansy shrugged. "Getting plastic surgery changed more than my face. Let's just say I'm grateful for what the Muggle doctors did for me… I can't hate the kind of people who made my life better." She flicked her hair behind her shoulders and smiled at Hermione. "I was miserable bitch because I was ugly. And now? I'm a  _happy_  bitch."

"Okay," said Hermione, unsure how to respond to that.

"Not much of a talker, are you?" asked Pansy, playing with the creases on her scarf. "Wouldn't have guessed, the way Draco goes on about you."

"Malfoy talks about me?" said Hermione with interest. Pansy gave a smirk and gave her a knowing smile. "What?"

"Just wondering if you're pretending to be dense or not. But that doesn't seem right; you are famous for being smart. What? Was he drunk? How could he have agreed to something like that? He's the king of rationality. Wouldn't change his socks without a valid reason."

"The situation was desperate," said Hermione, feeling defensive.

Pansy shook her head. "He hates pain. That's why he runs away from fights, can't stand to get hit."

Hermione had been so desperate, she hadn't seen the severity of what she had suggested to do. Sure, not getting caught was important and their jobs had been on the line but she had been reckless. She risked their lives because she wanted to succeed and Draco followed along.  _Why did he do as I said?_

"It was the bloody shrub's fault."

"You'd have broken both of your legs or you'd be dead if it weren't for the 'bloody shrub'—" Hermione trailed off and she saw Draco in a hospital gown. He looked as pale as death but he gave her a shaky smirk.

"Are you all right?" Pansy cried, standing up and giving him her seat. He held her shoulder for support and sat down. "Are you supposed to here?"

Draco waved her question away. "Had to make sure things were all right," he said, staring down at the stitches on Hermione's leg. He whistled. "That's going to scar."

"Malfoy!  _You_  had a twig go through your stomach!" exclaimed Hermione. He shouldn't be walking here, making sure everything was okay. Making  _she_ was okay.

"Yeah, I know," said Draco, sniggering. "I was there too. By the way, I reckon Alex's the girl."

"What?"

"Our plan. The woman figured out she wasn't talking to 'Alex' because I responded when she was talking to Alex. That's how she knew we were imposters."

"Does it hurt?" cooed Pansy, interrupting. She placed her palms on Draco's cheeks and examined his face. "You didn't scar your precious face, did you?"

"I thought you were in critical condition..." Hermione said, wondering how she came to this idea.

"By that? Pah."

"I can't believe you jumped out of a building for her. The most romantic thing you've ever done for  _me_  is buy flowers you picked yourself!"

Draco sent Pansy a death glare and she winked back at him mouthing a  _what_. Hermione pursed her lips, bemused at the exchange and shifted backwards when Pansy lunged towards her and pressed up close to her face for the second time that day. "I don't think I like you."

* * *

 

"Here's something for when you're bored." Hermione threw him a Rubik-cube and he caught it with his hands. They were alone now. Pansy had left to open up her bar and Blaise popped in for a visit an hour earlier. He had made a sick joke about Draco having a stick up his ass before the medical staff sent him home for being a nuisance.

"What's this?"

"A puzzle, you have to twist and turn it until all the colours face one side each. It took me a while—" Her stomach growled and she looked away.

Draco examined his new toy and started twisting each side as he said: "Why don't you head home? Staying here won't do either of us any good. Director Mar has probably put two and two together, but I doubt she'd be able to prove forgery. My guy is… good. No one saw our faces, right?"

Hermione shook her head. "They didn't. I'll stay for a little while longer," she said, still feeling guilty about how rejuvenated she had felt after the incident and the extent of his injuries because of her recklessness.

"Guarding prized company property?" he asked, leaning back into his pillow.

"No, I'm not here to protect company property."

"You're not?" he asked, frowning.

"I'm here because I'm worried about you," she admitted and a pink hue tinged her cheeks. He gravitated towards her, and cheered when she shifted and pressed so closely to the bed-frame that her knees turned white. It was just like Hermione to admit something like that casually. Those honest words, freely given away, warmed him like a satisfying meal. Yet at the same time it made him feel small.

A team of security guards were looking for them right now. Director Mar was undoubtedly yanking out her hair over the forged contract, and Draco wondered how years and years of secrecy and denial faded like a spectre with each thundering beat of his heart. He stared out of the window; people on the streets hustled like ants, their paths and day unhindered by the frightful retreat of apprehension towards The Unspeakable. The time was right. He should say it! "For the longest time I've felt—" Hermione cell phone rang, interrupting his sentence.

Jarred either by her realizing how Draco would've ended the sentence or the shrill tune, Hermione sprung backwards as she fumbled for her phone. She gave a smile which looked more like a wince and apologized for the intrusion. Draco just shook his head.

"Hello?" she said into the receiver, her hand cupped over her mouth and back turned towards the door. "Um, yeah. A little bit."

Her reaction and each persistent ring had slashed and chased back all the misgivings and reasons as to why The Unspeakable remained unspoken.

"I know. Um... yup. I'll remember to buy it on the way home."

At the end of the day, there was a person already there for her. Nothing would change that.

"I love you too. See you soon." Hermione hung up and turned back towards Draco, a polite smile on her face. "It's Ron. He was wondering when I coming home..."

Draco waved her off, plastering a disinterested look on his face. "Run along, it's not like I'll heal faster with you next to me."

Hermione gave him a pat on the shoulder and left the room. As he heard her footsteps fade he let out a loud thank you to the sweet heavens for whatever potion the Healers had made him drink. All plugged up, he could blame his temporary lapse of sanity on the narcotics. His thoughts rattled around as he imagined how horrible the situation could have been if he had been a few seconds quicker in stating his piece. The agony would be incomparable even to what he would feel when the potion wore off, when his stomach and legs drag him through the fiery pits of hell and back. His injuries were worth it though. The case – in his concern at least, was taken care off, crisis averted, done and dusted – never to be spoken of again. He would gladly treat the aftermath in the same way too. Draco wanted nothing in return, except maybe a moment of privacy to have an old-fashion bawl. Just the thought of an enormous secret shared between himself and Hermione sufficed, and it swelled his munificent, little heart.


	5. Chapter Four: Feelings Lie

**(Two days later)**

Snow covered the sidewalks in dirty sludge and made everyone's shoes wet, but most people out on Christmas didn't care or even notice this sort of thing. They were too busy being in love.

The infamous red-head, whom he referred as The Weasel, Hermione's steady boyfriend (not that Draco had anything to say in the matter… that'd be weird) had his arms wrapped around a pretty blonde. She styled her hair in soft ringlets, and had a perfect figure for a magazine.

_Ron Weasley, that pathetic bastard,_  thought Draco.  _How could_   _you cheat on Hermione? AND ON CHRISTMAS NO LESS!_

The couple walked into a hotel and Draco almost lost them at the revolving doors. He caught a glimpse of red and he ducked behind the counter, ignoring the faint and concerned gasp of the receptionist.

"Hello, sir," the receptionist said in his best customer voice. Drunk people at six already? Well, it was Christmas after all.

Draco pressed his head against the mahogany table top and took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing pulse. In a few moments he planned to expose that LYING SONUVA Draco always knew he was. "Sh," Draco silenced him, "I'm on a mission right now."

"Draco Malfoy," the receptionist breathed.

"Yup." He shifted his body so he remained hidden behind the counter. Any moment now, he was going to catch Ron red-handed. Draco peeked out from behind the desk and saw the red head and the blonde _holding_ hands. Their hands never left each other, even when they ate. Draco made a face at the inefficiency of their consumption methods. The blonde giggled when the man kissed her hand. "In plain view too. To put it on  _your_ words, you're somewhat famous you know. Have some shame!"

He stomped over to the couple and prepared to rip Ron the-bastard-Draco-always-knew-he-was Weasley into the next century.

"Zho's this?" the blonde woman said, a worry line creasing her angelic—almost too beautiful to be human—face. But with more important things to do than stare at this exquisite piece of femininity, Draco skidded into place and slammed both of his palms onto the couple's table for dramatic effect, Interrogation-Room Style.

"Weasley, you—"

"Hm?" The red head turned and Draco's jaw-dropped.

"Bill Weasley?"

"That's me," the man replied with a wolfish grin.

Of course. He should have realized. There was no way Ron could snag such a babe anyway. The flaming red hair was a  _family_  trait and Ron had what, five brothers or something? Their family had bred like rodents. They called their home "The  _Burrow"_ for crying out loud.

"And you're Fleur Delacour," he said.

"Wealsey, not Delacour."

"Ha-ha-ha!" Draco laughed. "What a  _happy_ coincidence. I came over because I thought…" Draco started, thinking quick on his feet. He looked at the food on the table. "Your steak was too raw!"

And it was. The slab of steak swam in bloody juice and dyed the potatoes into a pastel pink colour.

"That's unacceptable," he continued on. "You should send it back."

Billy laughed and seemed to accept the explanation. "Thanks mate, but I ordered it like this on purpose."

"After a werewolf scratched zim," Fleur said, "ze likes his meat a little zit raw."

"That's, er… wonderful," said Draco, retreating. "Enjoy your meal then."

Bill and Fleur nodded at him, the latter still wondering why he had approached their table.

"Merry Christmas!"

"Bye!"

Bah humbug.

That was the last time, Draco promised to himself, he would embarrass himself like that. There was no way Ron would cheat on Hermione. Even  _he_ wasn't stupid _enough_  to risk his relationship in such a way. Draco headed towards the Floo, ignoring the obvious stares from restaurant goers and the receptionist. "Never again," he vowed. "Never again."

The Christmas lights lit the buildings which surrounded them in a cheery glow. Ron kept his body close to Hermione's, and kept his best to keep them warm as they trudged through the streets of Paris.

Hermione stopped to admire the view around her, and although she had to admit sometimes wizards had no idea how to operate Muggle technology, the floating lanterns and fairy lights strung across the trees complemented each other.

That was more than she could say about how Molly used washing machines. Not that she had the right to complain. She ought to be grateful, Hermione chided herself.

The Weasleys had built them a temporary (but not so temporary because Ron had been living there for five years and two for her) extension next to The Burrow. The Weasley family referred to the property fondly as the The (Love) Nest.

But one day she had come home to find their small apartment flooded. And she just  _loved_  the fact Ron had given Molly a spare key without consulting her first.

If there was one thing Hermione loved, it was having her privacy invaded. Ha, ha, ha!

But at least, she consoled herself, the laundry's getting done. When they decided to move in together, Hermione had anticipated that Ron would be a slob. She didn't realise she'd be a slob too. One would think charming the laundry and dishes to do their own dirty work (haha) would be a piece of cake, but somehow Hermione and Ron never got round to waving their wands and chanting three syllables.

"What are you thinking of?" Ron asked, his warm breath dancing on the planes of her cheek.

"We need to do our dishes when we get back."

"Hermione! We are in one of the most romantic places on earth and you're thinking about the dishes back home?" exclaimed Ron, slapping the back of his hand on his forehead like a damsel in distress. He picked her off her feet and whirled her around. She screamed in delight as powdered snow swished around them. Ron placed her down on the ground again, this time facing the Eiffel Tower. It glowed in the distance; its light blurred by the fog and snow.

Ron pointed at the Tower. "Paris! Love! Romance! And Ginny's yelling at me for not having a single romantic bone in my body—"

Hermione shoved a handful of snow into his mouth. It soaked her mittens and she laughed at his expression.

"Hermione!" He planted a trail of kisses and Hermione giggled and sighed in his embrace.

"I don't think it'll ever get better than this," he murmured in his ears, tightening his hold on her. Hermione's scrunched her face and hugged Ron even tighter, her heart pounding in her chest.

* * *

 

**(1900h; London)**

Draco opened the door to his modest apartment, hoping to nurse his public mortification with a gallon of ice-cream and some sappy Muggle film on the telly designed for single fools like him. Maybe some silly soap opera with a tragic storyline and childhood love would air tonight. Draco snorted. Not that he wanted to get back with his childhood love. After the period of insanity he deemed as his "teenage years" passed, Pansy and he discovered the best thing they could do was to stay out of each other's pants (or skirt) and be friends.

"Ah, Draco- _boy_ , you're home!" His sometimes-worse-enemy sat on his couch and welcomed him home with open arms. "You look like you're heading for the gallows. Let me guess, you saw a certain brunette today."

"No." He scowled and shoved Blaise's legs off one side of the couch, making room for himself. "And it would be nice if you left me alone for tonight."

"What kind of friend would I be if I left you in such a state?"

"A compassionate one."

A knowing leer flared up Blaise's face. "Ah, so it is about  _her_."

Draco sighed and felt a rush of deja vu, knowing from previous times in the last few years exactly how this conversation would end. There was nothing to be done but to give in, and being Draco's best mate since he could count, Blaise had witness him do unbearably worse things. Blaise wouldn't judge him for what he did today. He would find it hilarious. "I saw a certain red-head with a leggy blonde today."

"What? But you said the Weasel and Granger's relationship was  _perfect_. What kind of sick kid cheats on their girlfriend on during the Christmas season?"

Draco sighed and sank into the couch, wishing it would swallow him up. "So I followed them."

"Bet you did. I told you you'd have a thing for her when you told me you were working together—"

"To see Fleur Weasley."

"Oh, with his brother's wife? Double nasty—"

"And Bill Weasley."

Blaise snorted and erupted cackles. "You are hopeless! I can't believe you fancy someone you bullied in Hogwarts  _and_  is happily in a long-term relationship with Ronald Weasley." He put a hand on his friend's shoulder and lowered his voice, hoping what he was about to say next would not only reach Draco's brain — for he had no doubt the blond knew this fact long ago — but his heart. "For all his red-hair, freckles and stupidity, he would  _never_  cheat on her."

Draco tried to suffocate himself with a pillow, still scarred from the event. "I don't like her now," grumbled Draco. "I've thought long and hard about it—"

"Proves that you've been thinking a lot about Granger—"

"I just admire all the _qualities_  she has. While I would want someone  _like_  her, it doesn't mean that I want  _her_."

"Yeah, yeah. You've told me this all before. And remember? The first time you told me, I determined that a lie. If you were that Pinocchio guy, your nose would reach up to the moon."

Draco sighed. "Okay, maybe I liked her a little bit—"

"Yeah, if you count three years as 'a little bit'."

"I don't even like her."

"And you haven't had a proper girlfriend since, what? Pansy?"

"Being a death eater and having been accused of murdering your father isn't a great quality to have in a potential boyfriend."

"Some people dig the bad boys. I'm living proof of the fact." Blaise watched his friend cross his arms and sulk and sensed Draco was in one of his stubborn moods and decided to give up… for now. He got up from the couch and reached into the fridge. "But you didn't even get convicted. The courts found you innocent. Want anything?"

"But to everyone, I'm the slippery eel that managed to get away." Draco didn't reject the glass of firewhiskey Blaise placed in his hand when he came back from the kitchen.

"Mate, you can't live like this; pining only after a girl who is unavailable, and not looking out for other prospects."

"I'm not doing that. I'm… what?" he asked when he saw Blaise's mouth stretch into a Cheshire-cat grin. Draco blinked a few times, and the firewhiskey had left a strange acrid taste in his mouth.

"We're going out to Parkinson's," said Blaise, beaming. "What's a party without us?"

Draco groaned. "I've told you I didn't want to go. Leave me to my telly and ice-cream."

"Do you think I would allow you to spend the whole night  _sulking_?" said Blaise, taking the glass from Draco's hands. "I thought you just said you were going to look for someone else."

Draco shook his head. "I did. But I have a feeling, and it's screaming at me to stay at home."

"Well, I have 'a feeling' too."

"And?

"It's telling me those feelings often lie. C'mon!"


	6. Chapter Five: How Draco Spent Christmas and the Morning After

**(2000h; London)**

Off the coast, faint reverberations of heavy bass drums and muffled screams of ecstasy pierced the night sky like stars. People of wealth and importance danced and roared in raucous laughter onboard the Parkinson cruise ship. Alcohol flowed and took the place of dead silence in awkward conversations.

"Astoria, I don't know if I told you already, but you look beautiful."

"I'm always beautiful, Theo." She touched the cluster of opals around her neck. Few women could wear the accessory with her aquamarine dress without looking like a tart. "Too bad we can't do anything about your uniform," she said, shaking her head at the boy's attire. She scanned the rowdy, screaming crowd and snorted when she saw Blaise and Draco feeding each other shots. "We don't fit in, do we?"

"No one's like us." He touched her arm and gestured at the people downing copious amounts of alcohol. "And I think that's a great thing. I mean, look at them."

"Queen Bee sure knows how to throw a party," Blaise shouted above the loud music and spun around in his chair to admire the flashing party lights.

"Does the B stand for Bitch?" asked Draco who was oscillating between therapeutic bliss and nausea. "That's Pansy for certain."

Blaise laughed. "Yeah, that word was made for her—Oh, fit bird," he said as a woman in a vintage dress brushed past him.

Draco turned his back to Blaise. "That one over there?"

Draco was pointing to a woman on a couch. Blaise's eyes widened when he recognized her. "No, but that's Astoria Greengrass, the one who stole all the looks in her family."

"Astoria was always beautiful," said Draco, nodding.

"Fancy meeting her here." They lost contact with most of their Slytherin house-mates (Crabbe, Goyle and Nott families) after the War. Last Draco heard of Goyle he had migrated to Finland and decided to settle there. He couldn't remember the last time he saw the Greengrass girls out and about.

"She gave me her first kiss. I think she'd still have a soft spot for me," said Draco.

"Ha," Blaise snorted. "In your dreams! She liked you when she was what, seven? That was more than ten years ago!"

"Bet I could get her to snog me."

"Wanna bet?"

"Your suit if you're wrong."

"You  _have_  to confess to Granger if I'm right," said Blaise. Part of the reason why Draco was so hung up over Hermione was because he had never admitted his feelings properly, so by confessing and getting rejected Blaise hoped he would be able to move on. Blaise pushed his friend off his stool and Draco stumbled across the wooden floor. Draco cursed and willed the kaleidoscope of light in his eyes to stop spinning as he made his way across the room.

"He's coming over," Theo said.

"I'm leaving. I've had enough of this party," Astoria said when someone grabbed her wrist. She bit back a scream and the silver charms on her bracelet jangled as she tried to shake him off.

"I'm playing a game, want to join?" he asked, pressing close to her.

"Who'd want to play with you?"

"Stuck up twat, sitting in the corner all by yourself, I thought you needed a friend! That's the only reason I—"

"Let go!" she snapped, ready to jab her sharp heels into the man's toes.

"Astoria Greengrass," said Draco and he stepped between the scowled at the man.

"Draco Malfoy," the man spat, the blond's appearance disgusted him. "I'm not going to bother with the  _likes_  of you." The man made a face and went off harassing other people.

"Thank you," she said and at the expense of being rude asked, "Why are you here?"

"That's what I'd like to know," said Theo. "I don't think he would bother approaching the likes us even after five shots of vodka in Hogwarts."

"We did use to play together," Draco started.

"And…?" Astoria said, crossing her arms. "We've ignored each other since then." When she was seven, Draco was the richest and nastiest boy who zoomed around the courtyard with his cocky grin, showing off his perfect white teeth. What girl in the right mind  _wouldn't_ fall for him? She had forgotten that Draco was such an obnoxious dork. They hadn't talked to each other since she was like, what? Nine?

"He probably is drunk," Theo whispered behind her. "That'd explain why he's so friendly."

"Are you?" asked Astoria.

"Am I what?"

"Drunk?"

"Merlin,  _no._ Is that the only reason you can come up with?" He gave her a grin. "You think too little of yourself."

"He's drunk."

Astoria turned to face Theo, feeling bitter. "Go away, if you don't show up at the right moments then you might as well not show up at all!"

"It's not like I could have helped."

"Yeah, and you're just a kid who never managed to graduate Hogwarts. Go away," she said and when Theo looked like he was about to protest, she turned to smile at Draco, ignoring the puzzled expression on his face.

"I wanted to ask you a question…" Draco said.

"Ask away."

"A rather inappropriate question."

_One-hundred percent, without a doubt, he's drunk,_  she thought. "I rather you not, I'm not interested in you that way. I'm leaving this party. Nice seeing you." She headed out of the ballroom.

Oh. That hurt more than Draco expected even though he hadn't talked to her for more than a decade. Still, when a pretty girl said they felt nothing for you, you would have to have a bulletproof heart to not feel its sting.

"I'll come with you," he said to the witch as she got her shawl from the coat-check. The Floo Room was empty. The night was much too young for normal party-goers to consider leaving.

Draco's pride forbade him to go back to the party. Knowing Blaise, he'd somehow manage to make him confess to Hermione Granger. If Draco managed to get Astoria's number, then he'd let it go. He couldn't let Astoria leave like this.

"Get out, Draco," Astoria said when he climbed into the fireplace with her.

"Are you going to leave me, who's  _this_  inebriated to fend for himself at a party like this? You know what would happen to me." He nudged her with his elbow and put on a convincing slur.

"You can't play the defenseless and vulnerable act with me," she said, rolling her at eyes at him. Bad idea. He had the saddest puppy dog eyes and it made her feel as though she  _kicked_  him.  _Maybe Mother was right,_ she thought.  _It was time to go back into society and start rekindling friendships. Draco Malfoy might not be a bad start._ "You said you weren't drunk."

"I am one-hundred percent sure I am now." Draco was no longer the richest and nastiest but he still had his cocky grin and his perfect white teeth.

"One cup of coffee," she conceded. "Then we'll both be on our merry way, all right?"

"Perfect."

"Diagon Alley!"

And… she should have Apparated into the café. Curses ran through Astoria's head as she wrapped her shawl tighter around her and tread through heavy snow. All the lights in the lane had been turned on and a song played in the distance, faint, due to the howling wind. As if to convince Astoria he were sick, Draco tottered beside her, covered his mouth with both of his hands, and heaved a few times. However, this was all unnoticed by Astoria, for the snow touched her foot and she could only scowl at the thought of her crystal-encrusted Italian shoes getting soaked.

She liked her shoes—all three hundred pairs of them.

Draco noticed her trembling and took his jacket off, placing it around her shoulders. He caught her pout and stopped in front of her, squatting.

"If you're feeling the need to relieve yourself, I suggest waiting until you find yourself a toilet and having your pants off."

Draco snorted and patted his back. "I'm not drunk enough to eject bodily fluids uncontrollably. Get on. Your shoes are getting wet, aren't they?"

Astoria's heart fluttered and she was pretty certain it wasn't the result of a blocked cardiac artery. "If you insist." She didn't want her shoes ruined. She hugged him tight as they made their way through the snowy lane and felt the warmth of his back against her chest.

When they reached the café, they sat in a booth at the corner of the room. The café buzzed with chatter and laughter with children and adults alike. Draco leaned against the side of the window frame with a laid-back grin. Astoria took a sip of her organic soy-latte, and noted that Draco's espresso remained untouched. She leaned forward to slip a napkin under his cheek. She didn't want to imagine the germs crawling on the window frame.

"Thanks for letting me tag-along," he said. "I didn't want to go back. It only gets crazier as the night wears on. If you're best mates with Blaise Zabini…" Draco trailed off and Astoria motioned for him to continue. In spite of her contempt for the popular clique, she always wondered what the 'popular Slytherins' did in their wild nights. "He thinks I'm heart-broken. He's been trying to make me do stupid things. I'm not by the way," he said with a rush.

"Oh," said Astoria, she hadn't expected Draco to share something like that with her. "I am though."

"Am what? Does hanging out with me count as doing something stupid to you?"

Astoria just gave him a smile with a shrug. Draco tilted his head back until his head hit the wooden backing of their booth and an impish glint lit up his eyes.

"What is it?"

"Come over here," he said, "I think the couple behind us is breaking up."

Astoria raised one eyebrow and got out of her seat. "If this is one of your ploys to make me sit close to you…"

"Come on," he scoffed, "I would have just asked. It's not like you find me disgusting or something." He patted the spot next to him and pressed his ears close to the board, trying to decipher what the people behind were saying.

Curious and thirsty for gossip—a habit which stuck with her from her teenage years—she moved to his side of the booth and pressed her ear against the board, her face inches away from Draco's.

"Who's Belinda?" she asked.

"No idea."

"Unless it's Belinda Johnson?" She remembered sharing a dorm room with a mousy-haired girl by the same name. Astoria adjusted her position on the seat and her knees brushed Draco's. He looked down to where their legs touched and then looked away. Astoria listened with an intent expression on her face and he smiled. She was having much more fun with this than he was. Draco blinked a couple of times, hoping the drowsiness would go away.

"Oh, that's it?" grumbled Astoria as she sat back in a more delicate position. "Because of mutual differences? How  _boring._ Don't you think?" She sighed in exasperation when she saw Draco slouched over in his seat, passed out.  _So he's the type to fall asleep when he became drunk_ , thought Astoria with a grin on her mumbled and Astoria smiled and poked his cheek, unable to help herself. He looked sort of angelic sleeping like that and she just  _had_  to mess with him.

"Hey, Draco."

No response. She poked him again, harder this time, but he continued to sleep. Astoria looked around her; the café was still crowded and even now, people were coming into sit and buy hot drinks.

"You could just leave him here," said the voice in her head. Or maybe not. There were two kinds of people in the Wizarding community: those who loved Draco for what he had become, a successful and functional member of society, and those who resented him for what he was, a Death Eater who had gotten full acquittal in his trials. She couldn't leave him alone in public like this.

She touched her wand and Apparated them away from the café.

Draco felt a tingling sensation in his belly-button; he'd come to hate it because of the impending response his body always had following it. "I don't feel so good…" he said, though rather needlessly as he presumed to empty the contents of his stomach.

Astoria screeched as he vomited over her sparkling high-heeled shoes.

* * *

 

Draco shifted his head on a fluffy pillow and glared at the beam of sunlight hitting his face; the windows in his room faced west, and they didn't get morning sun. "Didn't get to finish my dream…" he said, annoyed. He tilted his head, saw his shoes lined a perfect right-angle with the bed and frowned. "Strange," he murmured, still half-asleep. He yawned as he spoke and flopped back onto his pillow, screwing his eyes shut. "Why would I wear my shoes into my room…?" Then he heard the shower run and froze in fright.  _Someone is in the house,_  he thought,  _Why would a burglar break into my house to take a shower?!_ He was wide awake now. Draco remained motionless on the bed, for he was a coward and tended to be timorous in the face of danger. His gaze travelled up green walls and on the ceiling lined with gray tiles. His apartment's ceiling was cream. Draco sat up, turning his head back and forth as he tried to figure out where he was. "This isn't Blaise's place…" He frowned and tried to recall what happened last night.

He tiptoed and approached the bathroom, and noted the sound of running water had stopped. The door opened just as he prepared to put his ears against it, and Draco sprang back in surprise. "What are you doing here?!"

Astoria looked at him strangely while drying her hair. "This is my house," she said matter-of-factly. "And you spent the night here."

Draco's mouth formed an 'O' shape.

"I suggest you take a shower. After what happened last night… you stink."

Draco gave a shout when he realized Astoria had stripped him down to his boxers. "You took advantage of me?" he accused.

Astoria giggled and sat on her bed, her arms folded across her chest. She smirked at the sight of him trying to preserve his modesty.

"How could you!" He wrapped the white linen sheets around him tighter.

She wrinkled her nose and waved her hand in front of her face. "Go wash up, you smell like a pile of turd."

"I don't know if you know," he said, speaking each word very, very slowly. He often spoke like this to Pansy, half because it pissed her off when he talked that slow and half because Draco knew she needed the time to process his words. "What you did was a crime!"

Astoria gave him a look, completely unimpressed with him. "Who'd want to sleep with you?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "You're asking me that?"

Astoria smirked. "Okay, fine. Who'd want to sleep with a man after they threw up on the girl's favourite pair of shoes?

"What?" asked Draco. "I don't throw up when I'm drunk. Otherwise, I would never risk getting drunk at parties, a loss of control in public is embarrassing."

"You got that right! You  _were_  an embarrassment."

"So how did I end up in your bed?"

" _Nothing_  happened," she said, squeezing water out of her long blonde hair, "You passed out so I let you sleep here."

"And my clothes fell off along the way."

Astoria scoffed. "Did you not hear me? You threw up. Not just on me, but everywhere! You were like Hurricane Vomit."

Draco strained to think what had taken place last night. Blaise forced him to get intoxicated to an uncomfortable level. That happened. He and Astoria went to a café together. That happened. He remembered pressing his ear against the wooden board to listen to a couple breaking up. Then Astoria had Apparated them… and…  _ah that's right_. He recalled Astoria screaming when he regurgitated his entire liquor cabinet.

"Judging from the guilty look on your face, it looks like you remembered murdering my poor heels."

"I don't like Apparating, it always makes me sick," he tried to explain, "so I didn't get my licence."

Astoria still had her hands placed on her hips. She sneered at him and with a frightening sense of self-discovery; Draco realized this was how Artie felt when he yelled at him. "I'm sorry?"

"As long as you know I'm in the  _right_  and you're in the  _wrong._ " Astoria's expression softened when she saw his ridiculous doe-eyed look and was about to say something when a gush of cold air rushed past them. They both turned when they heard the front door creak open.

"Quick! Apparate out of here!" she said, throwing him his wand.

"I told you, I can't Apparate!" He caught his wand in one deft movement before he dived under the tumble of bed-sheets.

"Astoria Beulah Greengrass! Come out here and explain to me right this instant!"

"Mother," Astoria called out as she made her way to the living room, her voice extra sweet and innocent. "What brings you here at six in the morning?"

Draco made a hole under the covers and peeped out to watch the scene unfold. Mrs. Greengrass came into sight. She had pinned her smooth but greying hair in a tight bun at the nape of her neck and as she waved her arms in the air, the clinking ropes of pearls swung on her wrist, like pendulum-turned-wrecking-balls. Her eyes shifted towards the bed and Draco looked away as though this would somehow conceal him better.

"Is there…" she said rather breathlessly and she drew close. "A man in your bed?"

Astoria laughed and slapped the mound of blankets hard. "No, mother. Just extra fluffy blankets, you know how I am with the cold."

Mrs. Greengrass narrowed her eyes and her gaze fell on Draco's loafers lined exactly a foot away from the bed. " _Really?_ "

"Mother…" said Astoria, rising from the bed and walking towards her. The small details were the things that always tripped her up when she lied! "Could you come again in a few minutes? He's not exactly… um, decent."

Mrs. Greengrass' eyes widened and she fanned herself with one hand while the other clutched the edge of her blazer for moral support. "Who is he?"

"I'll introduce you later," said the younger witch, starting to push her mother towards the door.

"I WILL KNOW WHO HAS BEEN SLEEPING WITH MY DAUGHTER!" screamed Mrs. Greengrass. Flecks of red appeared on her otherwise pale-white face. She pulled her wand from her leather handbag, Astoria tried to grab it but her mother had already cast a charm in the direction of the blankets.

With a  _swoosh_ , the blankets flew off the bed and revealed Draco in his huddled form; he'd been trying to remain compact to avoid suspicion.

"Is that Draco Malfoy?" shrieked Mrs. Greengrass. She held her hand up to her neck.

"Mother, your blood pressure."

Draco could think of nothing but to straighten himself into a sitting position. He tried to smile and fix his hair but realised showing his underarm hair to a middle-aged woman who had just found him in her daughter's bed did not give off the greatest impression. "Er, good morning," he said before Mrs. Greengrass collapsed into her daughter's arms.

* * *

 

"Stop smirking, Draco!" hissed Astoria. "My mother fainting is not funny."

"Who knew the shirtless sight of me could induce that kind of effect on middle-aged ladies?"

Astoria slapped Draco on the arm. "You're such a prick. I can't believe you don't know how to Apparate."

Draco shrugged, unashamed at the revelation. "Most wizards can't do it either. I can get two Ds down but I can't seem to visualize my destination."

"What, you have a short attention span? A memory of a goldfish?" she asked, frowning. "That's the easiest part."

"Maybe I hung out too much with Crabbe and Goyle when I was younger. My head starts to hurt when I try to Apparate."

Astoria laugh tinkled like bells. "You know what they say, stupidity is contagious."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Let's just hope your house-elf is done cleaning my clothes before your mother wakes up. Wouldn't want her fainting again, would we?"

Astoria picked up her wand on the coffee table and waved the blankets onto Draco's shoulders. "Just cover yourself."

"You are using  _our_ house-elf?"

Draco bit back a scream when Mrs. Greengrass, who they'd placed on the bed next to him, snapped open her eyes and locked his wrist into a vice-like grip with her fingers.

"That's what house-elves are for," said Astoria. Mrs. Greengrass glared at her and she shut her mouth.

"You two, on the floor!" commanded Mrs. Greengrass. Astoria scrambled to sit in front of her mother and Mrs. Greengrass sat like a queen looking down on her two subjects. Astoria sat cross-legged and pulled Draco down with her before he could protest. He could feel the cold floor through the thin material of his boxers.

"I cannot believe it. Malfoy—no, Pucey," said Mrs. Greengrass. She shook her head. "Whatever you're calling yourself these days—what is your relationship with my daughter?"

Draco looked right into her eyes and said smoothly. "A close one." One wouldn't have been able to tell he was lying unless they saw Astoria's fingers pinch his arm under the bed sheets.

"So you two... are serious?"

"I wouldn't say serious—" started Draco, smiling sweetly at Astoria but glaring telepathic daggers at her.

"We're more than that," said Astoria, reassuring her mother. "Draco's just shy."

"Well, I've never dated someone with such a unique middle name before."

"Right back at you," said Astoria scathingly. She gave him a sneer that would have made him proud—had she not directed it at him, and smiled at her mother.

"You don't fool me," said Mrs. Greengrass as she continued fanning herself. "I have to admit, Astoria must've taken a special liking to you… she doesn't let anyone near her bed." Mrs. Greengrass glared at him. "You will not ruin the reputation of my daughter." She stared down the young couple. "Since you two have decided to take things intimately, you will take all the appropriate steps to court my daughter starting now."

"I—"

Mrs. Greengrass held up her hand. "I never liked you, Draco Malfoy. Not even while you were in Cissy's womb. Always causing trouble and ruining the pure-blood image."

Well, that was hardly fair.

"…But this is the first time in four years since she's so much talked to a boy..."

Astoria stiffened. "Mother, that's enough."

Mrs. Greengrass shook her head with remorse. "Out of Hogwarts and not yet engaged. If your father was still alive…"

Astoria stood up and pulled her mother off her bed and pushed her towards the door. "I love you a lot, but please come back another time."

"But Astoria, I still—" Mrs. Greengrass said. She saw the pained expression in her daughter's face and decided to let her have her way. "Fine. I will be back later on in the evening."

"See you then," Astoria said, closing the door behind her mother.

Binkie appeared with a loud snap, making Draco jump.

"C-Clothes washed and pressed, Miss Astoria," she said, looking scared of Draco. "That's not… Binkie thought it would be Mr—"

"It's not!" said Astoria. She glared at Draco. "Shower and get changed. We need to talk."

Draco gulped. He had one of those 'feelings' squirming in the pit of his stomach again.

* * *

 

**(26 December; 0630h)**

Draco took a sip of his orange juice and took a bite of his bacon, shrugging to himself. Not bad for a road-side café.

"The situation just then," said Astoria as she cut her pancake into perfect squares. "Requires explaining."

Draco waved his hand. He chewed on his bacon and swallowed before he spoke. "I totally get it. Your mother thought we were shagging."

"My mother thought we were in a relationship," corrected Astoria. "I am not a loose type of girl."

Draco washed down his next bite of breakfast with a gulp of his drink and shrugged. "I never thought you were."

"So I'm proposing…"

"Get in line. There's a whole fan club of girls waiting to do the same," joked Draco.

Astoria scowled, the expression marring her pretty face. "I'm being serious here."

"Fine," he said. "I'll consider what I know you're about to say in return for last night. You could've left me alone at the party or at the café, but you didn't. But let me tell you this in advance, I'm not interested in dating you."

Astoria drizzled more syrup and watched the golden liquid ooze all over her pancakes. "I know  _that_. You're too busy being love-sick over someone."

Draco frowned. "I'm not in love with anyone."

"That's not what you told me last night."

"What?"

"You you were hugging me the whole night and moaned Hermione Granger's name in your sleep."

Draco's eyebrows shot up and he blushed furiously, embarrassed he was such an idiot even when he was asleep. "I don't recall doing that."

"That doesn't mean anything. You didn't recall spewing on my shoes," Astoria pointed out.

Draco exhaled heavily. Was she ever going to let it go?

"But just to set the record straight, I'm not interested in you either. I want an honest man with a head full of brown hair."

"Are you trying to be sarcastic?" said Draco, scowling. "Naming attributes that's the opposite of me?"

She cleared her throat and turned to face Draco before she continued. "I was thinking—"

"Oh, you think?"

Astoria slapped the back of his hand to stop him from interrupting. "We date, but as each other's number twos... or something like that. It'll keep my mother from thinking I've turned into some sort of wild child."

"Number two," he repeated. The numbering concept was medieval, but translated to modern-day casual dating. The system came from a time when life was more easily lost. One could die in a duel for dignity. Basically it meant you'd have a main suitor and maintain healthy relations with someone else, a number two, (so as to not burn bridges) in case your main suitor died.

"I'm not ready for a serious relationship, but"—she shrugged again and looked at him square in the eyes—"I thought it would be wise not burn this bridge just yet. What do you think?"

He took a look at Astoria who chose to wear a pastel-pink mohair sweater with black leather leggings to breakfast. She looked hot. Dating such a woman (with an all right personality, it seemed) in a semi non-committal was one way to live life. At least it was better than pining for someone he would never get and maybe he would even get over said girl (NOT THAT HE LOVED HER.) If he agreed, he would win the bet and claim Blaise's suit too. With that in mind, he nodded and said, "Just so you know, you'll be my number two as well. The worst thing that could ever happen with this sort of relationship is to be on uneven footing."

"Sounds fair. Just make sure it doesn't reach my mother's ears."

Draco nodded. "Of course, do you take me for a fool?"

Astoria shook his head. "Wouldn't have been sure. Look at the people you associate with. They're not the brightest cookies in the jar."

"Hermione Granger's the smartest witch of our generation."

"And you say you're not in love with her." She gave a grin and placed an arm across his shoulder.

"We  _can_  write out what being a number two means," he said, brushing her comment aside. "But I don't fancy the idea of leaving evidence in a physical form."

She smirked. "I couldn't have said it better myself."

* * *

 

**(26 December; 0800h)**

Hermione swore as she tried to put her stockings on. "I'm going to be late!"

She finally found her shoes: the left one on the top of their messy bookshelf, the right had to be in the wardrobe... Hermione screamed when she touched something full of bristles in the corner of the wardrobe.

"What's wrong?" said Ron, dashing out of the bathroom with a toothpaste moustache.

Hermione yanked the offending item out of the wardrobe, determined to figure out what it was. Her mouth fell open and she glared at Ron. "What's this?" she asked, as she looked at the handle.

Ron dove back into the bathroom. Hermione sighed and put on her other shoe. "I'm going to be late for work so we're going to continue this conversation after I come home."

Ron's head poked out from its hiding spot. "B-But I promised Harry I'd swing by to watch the match…"

She glared at Ron and he gulped, regretting he brought it up. "Resolving this is more important, I mean...  _you're_  more important."

Hermione's gaze softened. "See you tonight. Remember to lock up the house." She kissed Ron goodbye but slammed the door behind her, annoyed that he had spent yet another part of their savings—on something pointless. And here she was, slaving away on Boxing Day instead of resting at home with a nice old book…


	7. Chapter Six: Of Flowers and Fights

"Morning, Granger," Draco said as he held the lift door open for her. It appeared they had made the same choice and decided to spend Boxing Day catching up with the work they missed during their little Excursion to the Mar Company. She greeted him with a smile and unravelled her scarf from her neck as the elevator made its ascent. When they reached their office a brown owl hooted from its perch in greeting. A pink string secured an envelope on its leg and seeing this, Draco leaped at the bird, startling it.

"Is that from Director Mar?" asked Hermione, rushing up to him as the bird flew out of the window.

Draco stuffed the note into his pocket. "Um, this isn't from Director Mar."

"What are you hiding from me?"

"It's personal," he said, inching away. "I'd appreciate it if you don't pry and stick your nose into it."

"Fine," she said. "As long as it doesn't concern me, I don't need to know what is inside." She sat on her desk and began filling out her paperwork.

Draco took the note out of his pocket and began reading it, his lips forming silent words as was his habit when he read to himself. "Mother wants a formal meeting tonight. I think you know what you need to do before that." Draco sighed. He had forgotten all those pure-blood customs when it came to dating. He wondered if there was a way to worm out of this one…

"Pure-blood dating etiquette seems tedious! I'm so glad Ron's family doesn't stand for nonsense like that."

"Yeah, you're lucky. Do you know it means I'll have to buy flowers?  _Me!_  I have to walk into a flower shop! Maybe I should send Artie."

"But isn't that missing the point? I thought this was an indiscreet way to publicly admit that you're courting someone you intend to spend your life with. You order flowers, say who they're for, then the florist tells someone in the upper circles and it spreads."

"You sure know a lot about this. What, thought Weasley would follow it?"

Heat rose up her face. "So what if I did? I find it rather romantic. It's more sophisticated than shouting from a rooftop."

"Which I bet the Weasel did," he replied, but didn't see her shake her head. "Well, I find it rather nauseating—" Draco stopped mid-sentence and glared at her. "How did you know what the message was about?"

She grinned. "You have this cute habit of mouthing what you read and I just so happen to read lips."

"Hmph."

"Yes, I know. I am awesome."

"You mean troublesome," he said, picking up his coffee mug to hide the smile forming on his lips.

* * *

 

**(A few hours later)**

"Okay, this is the battle plan. Go in and out as quickly as possible. It's going to be like ripping off a band-aid. You can do it. Go, go go!" Draco muttered to himself as he stood outside the flower shop.

He hated flowers. Miserable things they were. He was allergic to them too. Going into a flower shop was like sending his immune system to war.

"I think you're overreacting."

Draco spun around to see Hermione behind him and frowned. "What are you doing here?"

"Buying flowers? Why else would someone come here? Surely not to witness their colleague in a situation he's uncomfortable with."

"Ha, ha," he said, his expression sour like a pickled lemon. Then he brightened. "How about you go pick them up for me…"

"No can do!" said Hermione cheerfully. "You need to prove your love!" She dragged him in by the arm. "Now go!"

The bell rang as they entered and Draco stumbled over the threshold. He cursed as he regained his balance. A wave of sweet fragrance assaulted his senses. Draco eyed his surroundings; flowers lined the walls and grew in pots all over the floor, grouped in colours of red, orange, pink and yellow.

"How may I help you?" asked the lady by the counter. She was in her mid-forties and wore an orange apron. He looked down at her nametag. Jane.

"I want to make want to make a bouquet, one that will convey a message," he said.

"Who's the lucky girl?" Jane asked with a twinkle in her eye. When she saw Hermione at the back of the store beside the colourful bouquet of tulips she gasped. "Hermione Granger…? I thought she was with Ron Weasley…"

"Her? No." He shot Hermione a glare. "She's just… here. This is for Astoria. Astoria Greengrass."

"Oh! As a professional, would you mind telling me what the occasion is for? You see, the language of flowers is complex..."

"Just the standard one, thanks."

Jane squealed and hopped on one foot as though she'd just been asked out by the man of her dreams. "The standard? Oh, you two would do well together!"

"You know us?" he asked. Perhaps she was a relative? It wasn't hard to assume someone was related to you when you were a pure-blood.

"No, I'm just… well-informed," she said as she tied up the stems of the selected flowers with a silky purple ribbon.

"Excuse me?"

"I hope she likes them." Jane handed him the receipt.

"What?" he said in response to Hermione's slack-jaw gaze as he exited the store and into the busy street.

"B-But!"

"But what?" said Draco and grinned. There was only one other time he managed to make Hermione speechless…

She pointed at the bouquet with disbelief. "How did you know there a standard bouquet to choose?"

Draco shrugged. "I've been in there before. A couple of times, actually."

"Oh?" said Hermione, surprised by the idea. "Oh! Pansy—"

"Sh!" said Draco, clamping his hand over Hermione's mouth. He looked around the street in apprehension and fear.

"What was that about?" she asked when he finally relaxed his grip on her.

"She's like the Devil," he whispered as though he was afraid of someone hearing them. "Say her name and she'll appear out of nowhere."

"You're not cheating on her with Astoria are you? I thought you two broke up when you went to America. Well, I suppose it wouldn't make much sense if you're going to meet Astoria's mother…"

Draco shook his head. "I need to tell her myself."

"You think she still cares about you?"

"Not in that way, but she's going to throw a fit if she finds out I wasn't the first person she told. I should call her and arrange a time to meet up before she learns from someone else. Gotta run!"

Draco hailed a hansom cab and disappeared into it. Hermione kicked a loose pebble on the ground.

* * *

 

"So he's going to meet your mother? After two months?" Theo asked Astoria as she plaited her hair in her bedroom. "If I knew things could happen so fast, I would've requested an audience three days in."

"Shut up," said Astoria, admiring herself in the mirror. "I'm just going to pretend you're really not there."

"Good luck with that." He pulled the dark purple drapes from Astoria's childhood bedroom and saw a hansom carriage rolling up to the mansion. "Here's your fake lover-boy."

"And you're a  _flake_ ," she snapped at him. "Can you just go away? I can't handle you. I'm trying to move on!"

Theo gave her a smile. "You know I'm only here because you wanted me to be."

"Key word there is  _wanted_. It's past tense. I better not see you here again."

Theo climbed onto the bed. "Your delusions are at my command."

The door slammed behind Astoria as she made her way down to greet Draco. She put on a smile, because what girl wouldn't be happy seeing the love of her life? The house-elf had already helped him out of his coat and put his bouquet of flowers into a vase. Seeing her face light up to the sight of him, Draco smiled more out of reflex than courtesy. Two people involved in a ploy to trick others for one's gain always gave birth to a sense of comradery.

"Pre-made?" she asked as she leaned in for a hug, and made a face as he wrapped his arms around her body.

"I guess one can only get the standard bouquet so many times before she realizes," Draco replied snarkily when he saw her shift in demeanour.

"Just don't mess up." She turned her head and her voice and expression morphed into that of a sweet angel. "Mother?"

"The sitting room," Mrs. Greengrass said before disappearing into a room upstairs.

Astoria led Draco up the flight of stairs and he smirked at the name plaque hanging in front of her door. "I made that when I was six," she said, feeling the need to explain. "I have a problem with letting things go." She thought about who was in her room and sighed.  _Not healthy, Astoria,_  she chided herself.

Mrs. Greengrass took a delicate sip from her fine china.  _Cissy's boy with my darling Astoria!_ "What do you do?" she asked as a conversation starter. She already knew in reality, having done extensive background checks on Draco. Mrs. Greengrass knew things about him and she suspected something sinister under that winsome mask of his.

"I work under Maurice Pucey in his consulting firm," said Draco. He sat up straight on the chair and tried his best to appear polite and respectful.

"I don't want to waste my time. May I be direct?"

"Sure," said Draco, eager to be away from this situation as quickly as possible.

"How much do you earn per year?"

The question took Draco by surprise. He frowned, trying to figure out what his salary was. "Excuse me?"

"If you're serious about pursuing my daughter, I want to know whether you'd be able to provide for her. I know you're under patronage of Pucey and your fortune has—"

"About four thousand galleons."

Astoria's eyes shot open. She'd thought Draco would make more money than that!

"I've only worked in the company for two years, so my salary is a bit…"

"Underwhelming," Mrs. Greengrass supplied for him. "But I heard from Mrs. Pucey you may become head of the company after Maurice retires?"

"Maybe," said Draco, shrugging. "But not anytime soon."

Mrs. Greengrass raised an eyebrow. "We'll see if we can speed that up."

Draco kept his face neutral. "Planning to kill him off?"

Mrs. Greengrass screeched in laughter. Draco fought the urge to cover his ears. "Like you did with your father?"

"Mother!"

"Did I say something untrue?" She turned to face Draco with a sly smile on her face.

Draco froze and uttered the phrase that he used so often, it had become a cliché to him: "I'm innocent."

"I see," she said, not convinced in the slightest. "As long as you can provide for Astoria… she's a silly girl who needs a man to protect her and keep her in line."

"Draco loves me, I'm sure he'll provide and do the best for me," interrupted Astoria firmly, shooting a glance at Draco. "Tell Mother how much you love me."

Draco opened his mouth, pausing for just a moment. Any further hesitation would be suspicious. "For our generation… that is, the generation which faced the War in our teens, two months is quite a long time," he said, words spilling from his mouth as quickly as he could say them. "Times have changed. We are in the modern age. Muggle technology is mixed with Wizardry. As a result, our sense of time has changed. Two minutes for us, is too long to wait for a meal," he finished, thinking of instant noodles in the lunchroom sink.

"Go on."

"One thing we learnt from science is that time is relative," said Draco and he held his hand to his heart and made his voice wobble. In the past it let him get away with almost everything. "We can't define love in the hours, minutes and seconds with that person. We define it by the quality of time we spent together." He knew nothing about relativity and was certain he'd gotten it wrong but doubted either of the Greengrass ladies could catch him out on that.

"That's beautiful, Draco."

Draco's eyes widened in surprise for he hadn't expected his words to touch Astoria. Wait… he couldn't tell if his words actually moved her or if she was only pretending. He started down at his shoes and took a sip of his tea as though he were embarrassed by his outburst which he had no power to control because of the hot, raging passion he felt for the younger Greengrass in the room.

"I do believe your words are as sincere as they can be," Mrs. Greengrass said, "but you have only been together for two months. Draco, I'm interested to know how much you love my daughter and what you're willing to do to prove it."

Draco's head shot up and he smirked at Astoria, giving her a wink when he was certain her mother wasn't looking.

"It still stands whether your actions are sincere. I will be keeping an ear out for your efforts. Thank you for visiting us today, Draco. Binkie will see you out," she said, snapping her fingers.

Their house-elf, donned in curtain scraps appeared and bowed. "Please come this way, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco rose from his seat and bowed to Mrs. Greengrass. "Thank you for inviting me." He turned to face Astoria and gave her a toothy grin. "I'll owl you."

"Bye," said Astoria, waving her hand and mirroring his expression.

When Draco left the room with Binkie, Mrs. Greengrass raised an eyebrow and gave her daughter a look that could have melted glass. "Do you still see Theodore Nott?"

Astoria bit into a cookie. "What do you mean?"

Mrs. Greengrass gave a frosty laugh. "I've known Draco since he was born; his little speech was touching but he takes after Lucius. That parting smile of his, there  _has_  to be more than meets the eye."

"You're suspicious because he smiled? Maybe he's just happy. Sometimes people smile when they're happy."

"He was smirking, like he's above me."

"Oh, that expression? I think it's genetically wired in. Don't mind it." She shrugged and picked at her sheer white tights.

"I know for a fact, you still see Theodore," Mrs. Greengrass. "You didn't think I could hear you speak to him through your bedroom door?"

"Mother, I—"

"And now you're telling me that you love Cissy's son? He's your one and only? Don't make me laugh."

"He is my number one."

"Do you remember how Daphne used to cry when Draco said snide things to her? Don't you remember the tears you wiped away and all the glamour charms you cast to hide her puffy eyes? Are you telling me that's the kind of man you want to marry?"

"You think you know me so well." Astoria leaned forward and said quietly. "But I'm  _crazy_ , remember?"

Mrs. Greengrass turned red. "You… you want to date someone acted that way to your sister?"

"Don't ever use Daphne's memory like that. It's low, even for you." Astoria's expression stiffened and she glared at her mother. "If you're worried about your precious family prestige, don't worry. Draco fits your bill perfectly. He's well-liked by the decent people, rich, can trace his ancestors back to the Founder's Era and will look incredible in wedding photos. We'll have cute children you can brag about."

Mrs. Greengrass stood up from her seat, aghast at Astoria's accusation. She hurled her saucer at the table and it sent the cake tray flying. The metal pan crashed onto the floor and cake skidded across the carpet. Astoria cringed at the sorry sight. "Everything's gone wrong—oh… oh…"

"Here, take my handkerchief. Never, at any crisis of your life…" she started. "Well,  _you_  ought to know the rest. Except you wouldn't because you're strictly still anti-anything that doesn't conform to the old ways." She grabbed her purse and headed for the door.

"Astoria. Astoria!" Her mother grabbed her by the arm.

She spun on her heel and glared at her mother. "What?"

"I'm going to let you date him," she said, gripping her daughter so tightly the diamonds on her fingers dug into Astoria's skin. "If he does prove his sincere intentions, then…"

* * *

 

"Prove what?" Ron scowled as he paced back and forth across the room. Hermione sat on the bed cross-legged. She knew she was charging straight into an argument but it was not in her nature to avoid issues because of this.

"You wouldn't mind if I called Harry right now and asked him about it?"

"Harry's busy!" said Ron, throwing his hands into the air. "I don't think he would appreciate you asking whether he remembers the price of that broomstick. I doubt he would even remember something like that."

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. A rush of red dyed Ron's ears. "Ginny then. She would."

"She would, but she's probably busy with her job… and being pregnant," mumbled Ron. Then he frowned, having just thought of something. "Don't you trust me?" he asked, sounding wounded.

"As your girlfriend, I should trust you enough to take what you say as the truth." Ron brightened and approached her with his arms wide open, ready to give her a bone-crushing hug. She held up her hand, for she hadn't finished yet. "But your whole body posture's screaming you're hiding something. You've never been good at lying."

"You promised you'd never read me!" he spluttered, his facing turning red. "All the stuff that you learnt at that fancy-shamy institute of yours, you promised you'd never use it against me!"

Hermione stood up from the bed, indignant. "I'm not using it  _against_  you, Ron. I couldn't help it. I'm saying this for your own good, for  _us_." She swung her arms across her body, gesturing to their humble abode. "I thought we were saving up for our dream home."

"We are."

"I don't want to be stuck here. I want to own a house—not an apartment, but an actual house… I want…"

"We don't have money because you insisted on studying abroad."

"Are you trying to say going to university was a waste of money?"

"It wasn't a waste," Ron said, back-pedalling before her temper blew up in his face. "But you've got to face the facts. You used up a lot of our money so I don't think you have the right to yell at me when I use some for myself."

"I was on full scholarship."

"For the school fees, but everything else—the accommodation, the commuting costs… it adds up. If you had taken the job the Ministry offered you right after the war…"

Hermione shook her head. "How could they expect an eighteen-year old to be the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?"

"I'unno. You're smart, Hermione, I know you could have handled it. And if you had taken up the offer, we'd be rolling in Galleons right now instead of having to save up on food stickers."

They glared at each other, fuming. She closed her eyes, wishing she was someplace else. She hated fighting with Ron, she loved him, but when they fought it was awful. Both of them were stubborn; they loved proving themselves right but hated being proven wrong.

Ron shifted uneasily under Hermione's gaze, for he knew they were treading in dangerous territory full of landmines. "Is this really about the broom?" Ron asked in a quiet voice. He exhaled and pressed his shins against the bed. "Are you that unhappy with our situation?"

Her expression softened. She dropped her arms down onto her lap and sighed. She didn't know what she was feeling. "I feel like things aren't going so well in life right now. Especially at work, so I'm being extra touchy on things," she confessed.

"Finally gone crazy working with Malfoy?" he asked, lacing his fingers with hers. She chuckled lightly and shook her head. Ron sat down on the bed and kissed her forehead. "Sorry, I wasn't being fair on you. I know we're not doing so hot right now, but that's going to change. George has finally gotten better and I think he can run the shop on his own. So I'm... I'm going to apply for the Auror trainee program and take the test again. Third time lucky, right?"

Hermione shook her head. "You said you didn't want to fight evil and liked how you could make people laugh instead."

He planted a kiss on Hermione's cheek. "As fulfilling as that is, it's not providing enough. And you're not satisfied with things they are now. Like you said, you want a place for our own. You're right. We can't live here forever," said Ron, then he brightened. "But at least we're close to The Burrow. And if all fails, if we have too many kids or something, we can always tell Mom and Dad to swap houses..."

"Ron," she yelped, genuinely appalled at the vision he painted for her. He saw the fear clouding in her eyes so for her sake, drew a smile on his face and punched her on the shoulder to show he was joking around.

"Kidding, kidding," he lied.

She knew what he was doing for her and she pulled on a smile with some effort. "You take care of me so well."

As if in a charade, he gave her a lop-sided grin, "I aim to please!"

That night Ron cried beside Hermione but she did not notice, for a lifetime spent in a household full of teasing brothers perfected his skills in silent weeping. When he was done, he turned to his side to observe the perfect and beautiful woman sleeping beside him.  _Love isn't about fluttering hearts or romantic kisses,_ Ron thought.  _It's about compromises and sacrifices._ Theirs was a deliberate whittling of afflictions which one day would flourish into a fruitful bond. The violent turnings within his chest had to be love. He wouldn't accept anything it to be anything else. It just wouldn't make sense. Only love could hurt him like this.

Right?

 


End file.
